


Unapologetic Apathy

by Wolfy_P_Smith



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Gerard Way, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Slow Burn, Student Frank Iero, Teacher Gerard Way, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-12 10:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfy_P_Smith/pseuds/Wolfy_P_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard, in all honesty, doesn't want the job as an AP English 12 teacher.  He has much better ways to waste his life away, such as sitting around the house in his boxers reading manga until his eyes rot out.</p><p>Frank is the pyromaniac senior in Mr. Way's seventh hour class who would rather listen to music than lectures.  He is determined to keep as low-key as possible when it comes to the new teacher, until he sees the man's face...</p><p>He's a fucking angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To a Student's Heart

Meet Mr. Toro, Evert Hill South’s newest laughing stock.  Thanks to a messy ‘fro, Frank Iero, and a senior prank gone incredibly wrong (or just right, depending on whom you ask), he respectively earned this reputable title.

Mr. Toro was an alright dude. If one was to look past his wide-framed glasses and curly brown hair (the ‘fro is real, the ‘fro is life), they would see a sweet and gentle young man trying to make a living as an AP English 12 teacher in a ghetto-as-fuck high school. He would allow for his class to discuss answers with each other and listen to their iPods and even touch his ‘fro if he was in a good mood.

Which, in Frank’s humble opinion, was his first mistake.

One simply didn’t last at Ever Hill South being kind-hearted. If you wanted to survive with the big leagues, you’d have to grow a rough shell and some balls and pull up your big-boy pants.

Of course, coming from a low-key, pill-junkie, punk ass kid such as Frank, this wasn’t exactly the most genuine opinion to possess, but then again he never claimed to be a survivor.

Rather, Frank liked to advise his friends on how to make it in high school and occasionally fuck with innocent, unsuspecting teachers.

Mr. Toro was the perfect candidate for his latest prank: naïve, laid back, and a head full of hair waiting to be burned to the scalp. Sure, it was wrong to catch his teacher’s hair on fire, and he had done it in such an inconspicuous way that he got no recognition for his hard work, but it was so totally worth it. They day before Christmas break, and Mr. Toro lost his beautiful mane to a terrible “accident” that may or may not have involved a cigarette butt flicked into his luscious locks. Frank had no idea how he got away with it, but he did. A week before classes resumed, the school announced Mr. Toro would need some “recovery time” and that Mr. Way would be taking his place for the entire second semester.

This had earned Frank the name “Frankie Py-ie-ro” from the few people who knew it was him, and this should’ve bothered him, but he kind of liked the ring of it. Besides, who could be truly upset when they had just fucking set someone’s _head_ on fire and caused them to retire teaching for the year? In his eyes, that was a huge success.

He only hoped that this “Mr. Way” dude was prepared for the adrenaline rush he was now on.

 

***

 

“Fuck,” Gerard mumbled after listening to the voicemail on his crap-phone for the fifth time that night. “Fuckity fucker can shoot a fucking buckaroo in the motherfucking belly.”

“The fuck, G?” he heard Mikey mumble from the bottom bunk of their bed.

“Listen,” commanded Gerard, pausing the movie they were watching and tossing his phone on the mattress below without looking to see where it landed.

He waited for his little brother to replay the message, tapping his fingers nervously against the ceiling while lying on his back. He counted the glow-in-the-dark plastic stars scattered across the bumpy surface and held his breath anxiously.

“FUCK!” Mikey screeched from below. “Gerard!”

“I know!” Gerard cried, uneasy feelings bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “Mikes, I can’t do it. I don’t _want_ to do it.”

“Um, dude, you kind of have to. Perhaps you should’ve thought of this _before_ you filled out the application and had the interview?”

Gerard groaned; Mikey plain sucked at comforting.  He felt as though he could rip the very roots of his greasy black tresses out of his scalp, taking chunks of skin up with it and everything.  It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to get the job; he was in desperate need of money and his college counselor helped him realize his dream job of being a park ranger was in a declining demand.  A last minute decision based on what credits he had earned had him switching his degree over to teaching.   _Teaching._ His mom threatened on multiple occasions to kick him out of the house if he didn’t find a job (“You’re a twenty-two year old man lacking personal hygiene and a drive to do anything; you’re wrong if you thought for a second I’d still want you around influencing my other kid to be another mess-up.”) Gerard had just hunched over and later mouthed curse words behind her back to a giggling Mikey.

Now that he had the supposed “good news,” however, he’d rather have just been kicked out. He could see himself living the hobo life, riding the rails and bumming half-smoked cigarettes. That thought was a lot less disturbing than teaching six periods of _high school English._

To be honest, teenagers left him feeling infuriated and terrified, save for his little brother. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his career working closely with them, having to form _relationships_ with them.

The one upside to the job was that Mikey attended Evert Hill South as a senior. Perhaps he could convince him to spend his lunch break with him or something.

The next day, Gerard attended a three-hour “Learning the Ropes to a Student’s Heart” lecture, as well as four shorter sessions with different teachers and the school principal. Gerard was appalled by some of the school’s rules: no smoking on campus, no straying too far from the statewide curriculum, and no embracing the students. Who the hell in their right mind would _want_ to touch a student if given the choice, honestly? It was bad enough being put in the same room as them.

Come nighttime, when Gerard was supposed to be studying lesson plans and making an “About Me!” PowerPoint (as advised by the “Learning the Ropes” lecture), he really sat with Mikey in their bedroom reading comic books. Gerard’s newest favorite was _The Wicked + The Divine_ , while Mikey stuck to old classics such as _Superman._

Days passed by, filled with more advisory lessons and training and procrastination, until the day before classes resumed arrived. Gerard knew he had to pass out a novel for the class to read in four days, and all he had in mind was trying to license _The Wicked + The Divine_ off as a novel.

(“It doesn’t count.”)

(“Shut the fuck up, Mikey, like I don’t know this.”)

(“Just sayin’.”)

His “About Me!” PowerPoint had a grand total of two slides: “About Me! [insert pic of me and Mikey or something]” and “i’m mr. way. my hobbies include shit shit shit [insert hobbies here].” He felt it was a pretty good start to what could (and would) be an awesome PowerPoint.

“Screw this,” he mumbled as he tossed his toaster aka laptop on his mattress and grabbed for his sketchbook. He had time…

He definitely had time. At least, this was the mindset as he drew a melting face with a charcoal pencil and smeared graphite on half of his face. Time, it was on his side. Despite being an avid time-waster, he had always managed to get things done.

But suddenly a loud beeping sounded and a 10.0 earthquake rumbled throughout the room and a wild beast made a hideous sound out of the back of its throat.

That sound was actually Mikey groaning, “We gotta go to school, G-way.”

School… _school!_ Shit! He had fallen asleep with his sketchbook still on his lap and in yesterday’s crusty clothes that were threatening to break loose and take off running. His unfinished lesson plans, unfinished PowerPoint (it was _going_ to be killer), his undecided novel choice…

“Dude, get out of bed!” Mikey demanded, shaking the bunk bed rapidly, simulating that God-awful earthquake.

The morning was filled with rushed showers, frantic searches for professional attire, too-strong coffee, and yet more frantic clothes searches after said coffee spilled on said professional attire. The best Gerard could do in the end was a wrinkled, white collar shirt whose sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and a black tie. He couldn’t find any slacks, so he figured black skinny jeans were the next closest things. His still soaking-wet flop of shoulder length hair would have to do in its current disordered state. But he did find the time to slab on some smudged-looking guyliner before Mikey painfully pulled him to the garage door.

“You’re gonna be late on your fucking first day, G-way!” he announced as he plopped himself down in Gerard’s beat up minivan.

“My first hour is my planning period,” Gerard stated calmly. How could he be late for a class he didn’t have? “You, however, can receive a tardy. You’re the one who should be worried.”

“Fucking moron. I can’t be fired from attending school.”

“Debatable. You could catch a teacher on fire. OSS, _bitch!”_

Mikey just shook his head with a small, pleased smile as they pulled out of the pothole-filled driveway.  “Nope.  Py-ie-ro proved that one wrong.”

“Pyro-who?” Gerard asked before cussing as he came inches within hitting the neighborhood’s entrance curb.

“Curb,” Mikey warned two seconds too late, earning a dynamic glare from his brother.  “I’ve told you about Frank before.  In fact, he was at Brendon’s birthday party last year. We hung out then.  He’s pretty cool.  He plays the guitar and—”

“Anyway,” Gerard interrupted, rolling his eyes as he came to a stop at a red light.

“Right.  So yeah, he’s the cause for you getting a job here.  He caught Mr. Toro’s ‘fro on fire and now Toro’s all depressed because his ‘fro was his sole being and it’s been replaced by first-degree scalp burns.”

“Well, lovely.  Thank you, Frank Pyro—”

“Iero.”

“—for getting me this exquisite job.  Guess who’s getting a big, fat ‘F’ on his first paper?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.  Karma’s a bitch, Mikes.”

The rest of the car ride was silent, filling Gerard with nerves he didn’t think he’d had.  He honestly had no idea what he was supposed to do today or if he could handle classrooms full of children who caught people’s hair on fire or even if he could make friends with the other teachers.  Making friends had always been a weakness of his.  His list of friends pretty much started and ended with Mikey.

They pulled up to the giant, dinky school finally, Gerard getting to park in the privileged staff lots.  “Dammit,” he mumbled.  “Forgot the parking pass.  Oh well.  Not like they’ll check anyway.”  He and Mikey grabbed their bags out of the backseat of the car and made their way to the school entrance, chatting quietly about the chilly Jersey weather.

“What’s your first hour again, Mikes?” Gerard quickly asked as Mikey began to walk away, just to stall.

“Personal finance.  Gag,” Mikey answered.  “Required for graduation, so…”

“Ah, yes.”  He stared at his brother for a moment, taking in his geeky yet adorable appearance, before sighing.  “Alright, kiddo, I guess I should probably go get ready for the day, huh?”

Mikey smiled feebly.  “You’ll do fine, Gerard.  If you give the kids candy after a lesson, they’ll love you forever.”

Gerard laughed softly.  “This isn’t second grade, Mikey.”

Mikey shrugged.  “Teenagers like candy too.  Try not to embarrass yourself too much on the first day.  Keep your head held high.  _No stuttering,_ Gerard, I mean it.  And don’t fuck it up.”

“You little fucker,” Gerard said, rustling his sibling’s already shambolic excuse for hair.  Without thinking, he wrapped him up in a quick hug, already breaking the “no physical contact” rule, and murmured a quick, “Love you.”

“You too, G.”

And then Gerard was left on his own, frantically searching for a window he could escape from if it came to that.  Drastic times called for drastic measures, after all.

His classroom was on the third fucking floor of the school, Room 319, and God knows the last time he had exercise was in his _own_ high school gym class on the other side of the state.  He perused the area for an elevator sign until he was rudely bumped into by a rough looking guy in a football jersey.

“Watch it, emo fag,” he said in a nasally voice that didn’t at all match his hefty appearance.

“E-excuse me!” Gerard baffled.  “I am a—”

“Whatever,” the guy grumbled as he pushed his way through in the other direction.

Alright then.

He spotted another teacher-looking figure walking with a mug in one hand and a laptop case in the other.  “Hey!” he shouted, sounding a little ruder than what he meant to.

She glanced over until they made eye-contact with each other.  She did a one-over, sending Gerard squirming under her scrutiny, until finally she stomped her way to him. The loud clicking of her heals was audible even over the buzz of the morning students.

“What is it?” she asked, wearing a fake-ass smile and once again eyeing his body.  Her smile faltered and her eyes wrinkled and lingered on his Sharpie-doodle covered Converse before meeting his gaze again.

“Um,” he scratched his head embarrassingly, “is there an elevator nearby?”

“Why would you need that?” she asked, trying to feign honest confusion.  Asshole.  “There’s the main staircase right there,” she gestured at the student-infested stairs, “and three other large stairwells throughout the school.  There are even outdoor ones if you fancy the fresh air like I do.”

He raked his mind for an excuse other than I’m-extremely-unfit-and-I-always-have-been.  “Bad lungs.  Doctors advise against stairs if there’s an alternative.”

She gave him a knowing smirk.  “Right.  Follow me.”

He got stuck on the slow-as-all-hell elevator with the bitch, learning that her name was Anastasia Grafton and that she taught English 10 next door to his own classroom.

“You dress very… uniquely.”

_Bitch_

“It smells like cigarette smoke; isn’t that the strangest thing?”

_Bitch, bitch, bitch._

“Mr. Way, are you wearing _makeup?”_

_Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch—_

Lucky for Gerard, he had his classroom keys out ahead of time and quickly shut himself in his new classroom, not bothering with the lights just yet.  Taking a moment to collect himself and his breath, he rested against the doorframe, hand on his stomach.

What a bitch.

 

***

 

Frank was more than curious to see who his new English teacher aka potential burn victim was, but that wasn’t until seventh hour.  Instead, he was stuck in Personal Finance with Mr. Steele, who was old and cold and kept the room at temperature levels that would leave even the deepest depths of hell in tears.  The only positives of the class were that it was only semester long and he had had Mr. Steele before so he knew all the right tricks for his class.  Act busy, he won’t bother you.  Say your headphones are for listening to educational podcasts, he’ll believe you.  Brendon even got away with watching porn one time after claiming it was for his human anatomy class. Good save, Brendon, good save.

So first thing Frank did was take a seat at the corner computer and plug in his earphones, blaring _Arctic Monkeys_ and humming to the tune.  He put his head down and tapped his fingers to the beat, hoping his secluded look would warn off any potential desk buddies.

No such luck.  Even over the deafening music, he could hear and sense someone move to sit next to him.  Groaning, he sat up and removed one earbud, only to find a half-smiling Mikey Way staring back.

Mikey was cool and an introvert like himself, so he was alright with him being in his presence.

“Hey, man,” Mikey greeted, readjusting the beanie placed over his matt of mousy hair.

“Hey.  Didn’t know you were in this class.”  It was a stupid thing to say, he knew it.  Still, he continued on, “Held off your Personal Finance credit until the last semester possible?”

Mikey rolled his eyes and nodded his head.

That was about as far as their conversations ever went, which was perfectly fine by Frank.  Neither of them liked to talk, but they didn’t exactly want to be left alone, either.  So their relationship worked.

Frank offered over one of his earbuds, Mikey readily accepting, and switched over to _Iron Maiden_.  The two listened while waiting for Mr. Steele to make an appearance.  He was notorious for showing up a good ten minutes late to class every day, mysteriously exiting the east wing janitor closet with Ms. Wicket all sweaty and clothes ruffled.

“Alright, class,” Mr. Steele announced loudly as he entered, light reflecting off the gleaming face.  “I see several familiar faces.”  He turned around to write something on the whiteboard, revealing that his shirt was inside-out.

“Solid proof that Steele did the dirty with Wicket,” whispered Mikey to Frank, music still playing in both of their ears.

Apparently, though, it was more than a whisper (not that either of them could tell with the loud music), for most of the class looked back at them and snickered.

“Something funny, children?” Steele asked skeptically.  “Michael, you and Fred—”

“Frank.”

“—have something you’d like to share?”

“XYZ,” publicized Lindsey Ballato in a whisper-yell.  Mikey got a huge ass grin when she said this while the rest of the class burst into laughter.  Steele looked down, color creeping up his neck and cheeks.  He left the classroom, saying he had to make a run to the men’s room.

Twenty minutes later must’ve had Steele seething with rage, for he already assigned a group project.  “Work in pairs or trios, research one of the various topics on the document I shared with you, and make your final work snazzy.”  Choosing to ignore the use of the word “snazzy,” Frank rubbed his neck and changed his iPod to _Queen_.  It was sort of an unspoken agreement that he and Mikey would work together.

When the bell thankfully rung ten minutes later, Frank and Mikey walked up the stairs together before parting ways, agreeing to meet up that weekend for the project.

Frank smiled on his way to calculus, almost excited to start the project with the cool Way kid.

 

***

The uncool Way kid bit nervously at his nails as kids began to file into his classroom.  This was AP English 12, supposedly filled with smarter, more mature kids, but he seriously doubted “mature” and “kids” could coexist.

The late bell rang before Gerard was ready for it to, and he found the air stuffy and hard to breathe in.  He turned up the AC on the thermostat and made his way to the front of the classroom with shaky legs and pale (well, paler) skin.

“Hey, guys,” he welcomed with an unsteady voice.

He received an uncomfortable silence in response.

“Uh, right,” he murmured.  “Hold up, lemme get my PowerPoint pulled up…”  It took a good five minutes of awkward quietness for him to figure out the technology and get his presentation projected on the pulldown screen.  He hadn’t exactly finished the “About Me!” PowerPoint yet, but it was getting there.  Perhaps by seventh hour he’d have it all finished.

“My name is Gerard- er, Mr. Way.  That’s me and my brother, who you may know as Mikey Way.  Some of my hobbies include art, singing, and performing.  I like to listen to music and bands like iron maiden shit shit shit [insert bands here]—”

Well… shit. He had been so caught up in just reading it that he hadn’t even realized that—

“Oh my _God,_ ” a black girl in the front row retorted, gaping at the presentation on the board. “Fuckin’ teacher cussed!”

“Uh, I am so sorry about that and—”

The class just laughed, not exactly at him, but he still felt oddly out of the loop. He brushed off his shirt sleeve and cleared his throat. “Guys!” he spoke, trying to get a wrangle on the kids. “Guys, come on.” Finally they silenced and he was able to finish his PowerPoint. However, the next slide was just as incomplete, this time clad with words such as “[insert fuckety-fuck favorite food]” and “college experience and how life’s a bitch slide.”

“Fuck this,” he cursed under his breath, turning off the “About Me!” failure, wannabe PowerPoint and instead passing out the “About You!” forms he had luckily had time to print.

“Okay, guys,” he began. “Again, sorry about that. Mikey must’ve written that stuff or something.” Lies, of course, but it had a chance at saving his ass. “Ok, now I want you to fill out your own personal list-thing so I can get to know you better. Work on that for the rest of the hour and then do whatever while I fix my PowerPoint.” He felt that was a good enough plan.

“Mr. Toro said we were starting a novel this week?” a blond kid with an unsightly display of acne asked.

He again cursed under his breath. “Uh, yeah, yeah. We’ll start it Friday.”

“Well what’s it gonna be?”

_The Wicked + The Divine?!_ “Um, I haven’t exactly decided yet. But it’ll be a good book, trust me.” No one responded, so he got to fixing the PowerPoint “Mikey” messed up.

The first class, and Gerard was already making a fucking fool out of himself.


	2. Extreme Admiration at First Sight

Wandering. He was wandering. Not through the long, claustrophobic hallways or even around the tiny classroom. More like on the busted screen of his toaster/laptop, his Khajiit woman fighting off bandits and adept necromancers and even the occasional dragon. He found himself mysteriously waking up in a bloodied, abandoned cabin…

 _Gerard, you fucking nerd_ , a menacing voice shot at him from somewhere in his fuck-of-a-brain. _Playing_ Skyrim _during your lunch break as a_ teacher— _who does that?_

Well, it’s not like he wanted to. One could hardly blame _him_ for waking up late and forgetting to pack his lunch, and it certainly was beyond his control that Mikey had a different lunch shift. Of course, he did have a wad of fives in his back pocket that he could easily spend at the cafeteria, but that had teenagers. _Teenagers._ He loathed the very idea of having to stand in the same line as the dreaded T word, to once again be pushed around or just straight _ignored_.

And then there were the vending machines just down the hall. The grumble in Gerard’s stomach begged him to seek out its endless stash of junk food and peanuts and grape juice and _oh God they have cappuccinos!_ But in order to reach said vending machines, he’d have to pass by that bitch’s room—Anesthesia Grapefruit or whatever—and Lord only knew that _that_ wasn’t about to happen.  She had already come into his classroom twice to complain about the noise level of his students (“All students should be talking in six-inch voices because I’m a dumbfuck, too mature bitchass teacher-lady.”  Gerard may or may not have added that last part).

So because Gerard was the socially-impaired man he was, he settled for sitting at his desk and eating virtual cheese wheels and raw potatoes for the remainder of his lunch break.

 

***

 

By the time sixth hour came, Frank was drained of all previous enthusiasms, including meeting Mr. Way. He had heard that the man was strange and awkward, kind of like Frank himself. Then there was the rumor of a presentation gone bad, resulting in him cussing in front of the class, but Frank seriously doubted that was true. High school teachers were too up-tight and boring to drop a good swear.

Sixth hour was Advanced Personal Image. Frank had no idea why he had taken Personal Image his junior year, and he especially had no idea why he was taking it again this year. Perhaps because it was an easy A, or maybe because he liked being the only dude in the class. Regardless, he hated the actual concept of it and barely abstained from letting his heavy eyelids droop into slumber.

“Hey, Frank, aren’t those just for narcoleptic kids?” a red-head (Ellie? Maci? who knows) whispered from next to him as he opened up a bottle of Ritalin.

“Doctor said s’okay,” he mumbled, popping the pill anyway.

“I don’t think it is…”

He didn’t respond and instead drew a doodle of a giant pill eating an anonymous red-head on his notes. He quickly scribbled over it as Ms. Ovaries walked past.

“Everything going well with the note taking, Frank?” the knocked-up teacher asked skeptically, _accusingly._

“Yes, Ms.—” he refrained himself— “Ovety. S’all good here.”

She tsked before moving to make her rounds at a different part of the class.

The bell couldn’t have rung soon enough. Frank raced for his top floor English class, happy that his day was almost over and he could go home and do his favorite activity: absolutely nothing. He pushed past the taller people (read: everyone) and squeezed between tragic couples kissing goodbye because they’d have to wait a whole hour before sucking face again. School was so cruel.

When he entered the classroom, however, he almost squealed like a fangirl obsessing over her favorite ship gone canon.

That couldn’t be the teacher, no. He was too young, too nervous, too _hot_ …

Frank sat down in the seat nearest Mr. Way’s desk with a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

 

***

 

Only one more hour. He could do this. Gerard could certainly do this. He had suffered through worse— there was that one time his hand got stuck in a claw machine. He was strong.

“Um, alright then,” he said while clearing his throat when the final bell rang. Nobody spoke, so he attempted to lighten the mood. “Seventh hour, right?” The only kid to laugh was a weird, tattooed kid sitting next to his desk. Okay… not creepy at all.

“Uh, due to technical difficulties, I won’t be showing you guys my presentation, but…” He cleared his throat again. “Uh, I will pass out a sheet I need you to fill out… I’ll give you fifteen minutes to do that before we move on.” He eyed the class, searching for any pique of interest at all. Only the tattoo kid smiled at him. “Uh, okay,” he mumbled while passing out the “About You!” sheets. “You guys get to that.”

He retreated to his desk, ready to play _Skyrim_ while the class worked, but decided to check his email first. It was already full of teacher junk mail, but one read “Important!” so he clicked it.

_Mr. Way, We welcome you to EHSHS! I hope you’re finding much success. I am unsure if Mrs. Smith informed you or not, but you are to take over Mr. Toro’s position as after school detention leader on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Email me with questions or concerns. Sorry for the late notice. Mrs. Thornhill._

“Shit!” Gerard cursed a little too loud. The class turned their heads to stare. “Sorry, sorry,” he breathed wearily. “I have to babysit the detention thingy after school.”

A girl with glasses laughed. “Tough luck, man.”

Gerard just groaned and banged his head on the desk a couple times in desperation.

“You liking your job any?” someone else asked. This captured his attention. Not one person that day attempted to hold a conversation with him. He looked up and caught the eyes of tattoo kid. Figured. The rest of the class was still staring.

“It’s… it’s something,” he finally answered, running a hand through his stringy hair. “Just stressful, and… that teacher next door is lame.”

A couple people snickered. “Mrs. Grafton?” one asked.

“Yeah! Her.” He shuddered at the thought. But then a thought hit him. “Shit- er, shoot. I’m not supposed to talk about other teachers, am I? Crap. Uh… can you guys keep a secret, just this once?”

A chubby boy answered with a smirk, “Dude, like everyone hates her anyway. No one’s gonna say anything.” Most of the class nodded in consensus. “She’s a bitch.”

Gerard hummed in agreement. Some people turned back to their worksheet, but he wasn’t done. “Like, why does my classroom have to be on the third story?” He cupped his chin in his hand and leaned into the desktop. “What do I look like, a bodybuilder? And then she makes a big damn deal about me asking for the elevator, y’know, and I’m just stuck going up it with her. Like if you’re too cool for elevators, why you ridin’ up one with me, right?”

By this time, most of the class was laughing, and he had to admit he liked it.

Tattoo kid was the one to speak up over the laughter. “She gave me a D on my paper last year because it wasn’t ‘topical.’”

“What was the topic?” Gerard asked as politely as he could, trying to ignore the large pair of eyes ogling at him.

“A broad one. Persuasive speech. I wrote mine on gay people. Homophobic bitch.”

Gerard blushed. Gay people. He was a gay people. It’s not like he was ashamed of it, just that it was new to him; he was still shy about it. “Uh, yeah. Sounds unfair and, um, like a personal issue on her part.”

Tattoo kid just smiled.

“Do we have to fill this out?” someone in the front whined. “I’ve been taking tests all day and I’m tired of writing. Can you just ask us our names like every other first-day teacher?”

“Sure, uh, why not?” Gerard agreed nervously, hopping up from his chair. He strode in his awkward walk to the front of the class and took a seat on top of an empty desk. It wobbled under his weight, and he drew in a shaky breath. How perfect it would be to bust his ass in front of everyone on his first day of teaching. “Well… I guess I need to learn your names anyway, so let’s start from the front.”

They had strange names, ranging from common ones like Hanna and Danny to more… _unique_ ones like Emmett and Amaranth.

“Isn’t that a plant used in like, cereal or something?” he questioned curiously when he got to the blonde, freckled girl.

Blood rushed to Amaranth’s cheeks. “You can call me Amy if you want.”

“Nah, I’ll stick to Amaranth. Got this crazy cousin named Amy that I’d rather not think about.”

Last to talk was tattoo kid. Or Frank, as he learned.

“Your parents care you’re all tatted up so young?” Gerard marveled aloud. He himself would never even come close to a needle, but it was impressive that an eighteen year old boy would so willingly.

Frank shrugged. “Dunno. Did it for my eighteenth birthday with a friend.”

Gerard had no idea how he wouldn’t know if his parents cared by now and was about to ask, but he was interrupted by a girl… er, Farrah.

“What book are we reading?”

Moaning, Gerard rubbed his face and sighed out a quiet “Dunno.”

Well. This beat a silent class, that’s for sure,

 

***

 

Frank was never one to believe in love at first sight, but… _damn._ That’s all his brain could come up with: _damn, damn, damn, damn…_

Maybe it was the adorably nasally voice, or the stringy black hair. Perhaps it was the smudged eyeliner or even the slightly off-setting tiny teeth. Even the way he awkwardly held himself added to the overflowing pool of hotness.

Oh, God. When did Frank begin thinking like a twelve-year-old _girl?_

 _When you started being attracted to high school teachers, you pervert,_ a jerk from deep in Frank’s head answered.

“You know what, Voice-in-My-Head?” Frank spoke in his head tiredly. “I don’t think anyone asked you. Besides, he can’t be _that_ much older…”

All the jerk said in reply was, _Perv._

The best part, perhaps, was that despite the fact that he’d only been in Mr. Way’s room for maybe twenty minutes, he already realized what a sweetheart he was. He asked the other students questions about their lives and listened to their stories. It wasn’t like most people who Frank knew- people who always waited for the conversation to focus back on themselves. No, Gerard seemed so selfless and like he actually cared, and Frank could go as far as to say he loved it.

Love at first sight? Possibly not. But extreme admiration? Hell to the motherfucking yeah, baby.

Frank sighed in his seat and tried not to gawk at his new favorite teacher too much. Tried and failed miserably. He could hardly bring himself to care, though, because Mr. Way’s lopsided smile made his stomach churn in such a pleasant way. Even if that smile was brought on by the awkward feeling of being ogled at. It made no difference to Frank. A beautiful smile was a beautiful smile.

Frank could hardly believe himself, though. He’d had a grand total of one boyfriend in his life, and that was only out of pity. The dude tried to convince Frank to watch gay porn with him only after the second date (“It’ll only bring us closer, Frankie…”). That was the last time Frank had spoken to him. Yeah, so he had a bit of bad luck when it came to boys. Maybe he wanted to fix that. Maybe he wanted to have a really good experience with a really good lucking guy.

 _God, Frank!_ the jerk yelled out.

“Oh, so now you decide to return, huh? Gotta get your word in.”

_You’re a pervert._

Frank sighed, defeated. “I know.”

He must have said it out loud this time, though, because it caught Mr. Way’s attention. “Fred? Something wrong?” he asked quizzically.

 _Shit._ “Uh, it’s Frank… And nothing’s wrong, Mr. Way.” He tried to smile reassuringly. God, Frank wanted to disappear. Why was he being such a fucking weirdo?

_It’s a side-effect of the perverted-ness._

Frank resisted the urge to scream in frustration. Or at least tried to. He managed with a small squeal that he doubted anyone could hear. Rather, he _hoped_ no one could hear. Judging by the rude glare he was getting from the girl next to him (Zara? Sophia?), he probably was louder than intended.

It left him feeling down, but as soon as he heard the high-pitched laugh of his teacher from the front of the classroom, his heart fluttered and he felt on top of the world in gushy feelings and lust. Seventh hour AP English 12 was going to be great.

 

***

 

“Your homework is to sit on the couch and eat potato chips.”

The class laughed- well, all except for _Becky_.

“Mr. Way, it’s important to have homework in _all_ classes to ensure maximum education and a balanced learning experience.”

Gerard was going to respond, but another student stole the words out of his mouth. “Shut the hell up, Becky.” Seriously, though.

Gerard rubbed his face warily and sat in his plush office chair, waiting with the rest of the school for the final bell to ring, freeing them all from this prison called “high school.” He was worn out- sure, seventh period wasn’t so bad. He kind of maybe just a little bit _liked_ the students (except for that bitch, Becky). Kind of. He’d still rather be at home in his boxers watching his newest movie obsession- _The Silence of the Lambs_. But hanging out with the students wasn’t as tortuous as his own high school experience led him to believe it would be. Most the kids were just happy to be getting out of the regular schoolwork, so they freely conversed with him. Some creepily gazed at him- okay, just one. Fred, was it? Yeah. Fred. That boy’s uncanny staring behaviors sent shivers down his spine, and not in a good way. He made a mental note to avoid him at all costs without being too discourteous.

The bell finally did ring, and Gerard was the first to shoot up from his chair. To his luck, the first day back was a Thursday, so he didn’t have detention duty just yet. He was about to exit through the door and make a sprint to his car, but then he remembered Mikey. “Goddammit,” he mumbled, getting out his phone in case Mikey called or texted. Most likely, he would text. Mikey knew Gerard well enough to know that he eluded talking on the phone to the best of his ability.

“Bye, Mr. Way!” several students chirped happily as they passed his desk.

“Oh, uh, see ya,” he responded awkwardly while scratching the front of his neck. Social interactions. He could do social interactions. He’d lasted through six periods of them; he could handle a simple, casual farewell from his students.

Time passed, and then some more time, but still no Mikey. Gerard didn’t want to start up _Skyrim_ again due to a lack of time, but he was bored as hell. He took out his phone and pretended to be busy on it, but really he was just scrolling through his short list of notes jadedly, not really seeing the words.

Finally, his classroom door opened, and _boy,_ was Gerard furious- it was twenty-five minutes after dismissal, and Mikey hadn’t answered any of his texts.

“The fuck, Mikey?” he yelled, fisting his hands and bolting from his chair.

“Excuse me?” Shit. That was a feminine voice. That was a feminine body. Definitely not _Mikey’s_ body. _Shit._ That was—

“Mrs. Grapefruit!”

The bitch teacher lady put a hand over her heart, as if she was offended or something incongruous like that. “Mr. Way! I can’t believe your amount of profanity! Using such naughty language on school grounds.”

Gerard didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent.

“I came to congratulate you on your first day, but maybe I should just leave you and your vulgar self alone.”

“Maybe you should,” Gerard agreed with a minute nod of the head, refusing to make eye-contact with the bitch.

“I’ll have you know that Evert Hill South has a zero-tolerance policy.  I’ll have to report you if I hear that nasty f-word again.”

Honestly, how old was the lady? “Yes, Mrs. Grapefruit,” he said, not in defeat or compliance.  Rather, he just wanted the woman to shut her fucking mouth.

“It’s Grafton, Mr. Way.”

“Right.” She’d always be a Grapefruit in Gerard’s mind.

Just as she turned on her high-heels, her blond bob bouncing loosely, Mikey decided to show his ass up.

“Michael!” Grapefruit exclaimed.  “What are you doing here?”

Mikey had a bored look on his face as he said blandly, “Waiting for my brother.”

 _Waiting for my brother, my motherfucking ass!_ Gerard thought angrily, heat already rising in his pale cheeks.

“Mr. Way is your brother?” she asked in surprise.

“How many other Way’s do you know, Grafton?”

“Well, I should’ve made the connection before.” Her eyes shifted back and forth between the brothers.  “Your mother must’ve never taught you your manners on proper language etiquette.  Shame.”

“Our mother’s dead,” Mikey stated unemotionally.  Gerard played along, but only so he could get the bitch out of his room faster- he desperately needed to scream in Mikey’s face.

“O-oh, dear!” she cried.  Desired effect achieved.  “I’m very sorry to hear- I should get going now.  I’ll be seeing you both tomorrow.” She quickly left the room, her cheeks satisfyingly red and blotchy.

“Ha!” Mikey cheered, extending his hand up to Gerard.  “Gimme five- that was fucking _awesome!”_

Gerard gave him five, alright.  Rather, five fingers closely netted together across the face.  A satiating whacking sound was made.

“Ow!” Mikey wailed, bringing his hands to his now-red cheek.  “Did you just fucking _slap_ me?”

Gerard answered with another slap on the other cheek.

“Shit! Stop it, G!” Mikey backed away, his back bumping into the wall.  “What was that for?”

Gerard retorted with his own question.  “Where have you been for the last half hour?  If you’d have come straight here, I could’ve avoided the conversation from Grapefruit!”

“Did you just call her Grapefr—”

“No!” Gerard yelled out.  “You don’t get to ask questions- answer me!”

“I… uh… Well, Frank and I are doing a project together for Personal Finance, so we planned it out a bit.  He’s coming over tomorrow, so…”

“So you couldn’t have texted me to say, oh I don’t know, I’ll be thirty minutes _late?_   You fucking jerk!”

“Great insult there, G.”

“You know what- I’ve had it with you!  My whole day has been full of stress, and what do I get from you in return?  Nothing!  You’re so…so… Ugh!”

Mikey, apparently, had had it, too.  He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and puffed his cheeks stupidly.  “Well, at least I’m not an annoying-ass like you— _Oh, my name is Gerard, and I’m so special they named a fucking salad dressing after me!”_

Gerard scowled.  He was _proud_ to have a salad dressing named after him.  “Fuck you, Mikey.  That’s something I take pride in!”

“Well, I’m a Ninja Turtle!  Ninja Turtles beat out salad dressing any day.”

“A mutant one,” Gerard corrected, “who lives in a sewer with a giant rapist vermin!”

Both brothers frowned at each other, neither daring to be the first to break eye contact.  Eventually, though, Mikey started cackling, slow and quiet at first but steadily increasing to a full-out laugh.  Gerard tried to remain stoic, but soon he found himself laughing with his brother.  The whole fight was so stupid; he just wanted to go home.

“A giant rapist vermin, Gerard?” Mikey managed to sputter out between laughs.

“How else do you think four turtles were made?”

“You’re truly retarded.  Can we leave, now?  Frank’s waiting in the commons for me.”

Gerard sighed in annoyance, his laughing finally dying down.  “We’re driving your friend home?”

Mikey nodded.  “He’s staying over at Bob’s place tonight.  You know where Bob lives, right?”

He did.  Mikey had made Gerard drive him there before when they were younger.  “Sure, whatever.  Let’s go.”

Finally, _finally_ , they were on their way home.  Gerard was ready to collapse on his top bunk bed and take off his stupid dress-shirt.  He felt he could lay in complete silence for years, neither speaking nor moving.

But his heart stopped as soon as Mikey introduced said “Frank.”  No.  This couldn’t be— Mikey was making a mistake.  He was wrong- completely wrong.

“Gerard,” Mikey said, placing his arm around the other kid.  “Meet Frankie Py-ie-ro.”

And then everything connected.  Fred… Creepy-guy Fred was Frank.  That much he knew.  But the afro catching on fire, the whole reason for his employment, was standing right in front of him.  Ogling.  Of course.

“Mr. Way?” he asked oh-so-innocently.  Gerard groaned.  “You’re Mikey’s brother?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he said nervously.  An awkward silence passed, one with Frank staring with a smile on his face and Gerard picking at his nails.  Mikey just watched the two carefully, his eyes calculating.  Gerard cleared his throat. “Um… yeah.  So.  Shall we, um, shall we get going?”

Frank nodded too eagerly, and Gerard cursed under his breath.  Leave it to Mikey to be friends with the disturbing kid.  The disturbing, potential _stalker_ kid.

“Well, uh,” Gerard mumbled, shifting on his feet uncomfortably.  He refused to look Frank in the eyes.  “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly overdone multi-perspective... I don't typically do that, but it's kinda necessary for these beginning chapters. I'm thinking I'll make this mostly Gerard's story with a bit of Frank's perspective thrown in every once in awhile. Just an fyi. Thanks for reading!


	3. Frankly, My Dear

Gerard repeatedly banged his head against his desk for the third time that day, trying to ignore the grumbling of his stomach.  Of course he had forgotten his lunch again.  Of course.  What else?

He decided to check an online account of his while waiting for the agony of having nothing else to do to end.  He had one private message from this weird looking dude who was apparently into foot kink and Jacuzzi baths. He wondered briefly how the site matched them two together, but why not give it a try?

This is why.  The message read, _Gerard, you have really nice feet and I dig that. Come by and see my tractor sometime soon?_ Gerard had no words to describe the weirdness, so he deleted the message and put his head down on the desk.

Honestly, he still had no idea why he kept the “Farmer’s Only” online dating account.  He and Mikey got a free trial a few months ago and had played it off as a joke at first, but that’s where he met his first (and only *cough cough*) boyfriend.

His name was Hank.  Hank Houston.  He was a middle-aged dude from some unknown part of Texas trying to make a living as chicken farmer.  They had never met in person, but Gerard really liked the guy.  He was kind and sent him a lot of money.  Okay, so mostly he liked the money part.  It wasn’t like he _asked_ for it; the guy just gave it out freely.  He’d tried to send it back once, but Mikey wouldn’t allow it- he claimed they were too poor for that.

Hank.  So they had begun to get serious, even starting to talk about meeting up.  That is, until Hank had revealed his _true_ occupation through text messaging.  Turns out he didn’t have a single chicken on his farm.  Rather an indoor marijuana farm. Made sense, with the large amounts of money Gerard was receiving and whatnot.

Gerard had simply blocked Hank and kept all the gifts.  He did not want to get involved with a potential jailbird.  That was the end of his first and quite possibly last relationship.

It was a little embarrassing that he’d never had his first kiss, considering that he was twenty-two going on twenty-three.  Mikey teased him about it all the time, but Gerard retorted with the fact that Mikey’s first kiss had “accidently” been their second cousin. It was scarring for the whole family.

Now, Gerard just went on Farmers Only to see if he could get any guys to talk to him.  He wasn’t even into farmers, he just didn’t see anyone else taking interest in him.  Nobody in his entire high school and college career did, so why would that change now?

It won’t.  Perhaps the best he’d ever find was a marijuana grower and a dude with a foot fetish.

Lunch went on for several excruciating minutes until finally (thank the heavens) the bell rung and ugly teenagers filed into his room.  Sixth hour.  Almost done.  Second day, bitch.

“Hey, guys,” he mumbled, not moving from his position of utter defeat with his head on his desk.

Nobody responded, so he groaned and got to his feet. “Um, so I was supposed to have a novel to introduce to you guys,” he began, “but as you can see, that’s not happening.  So, I’ve been kind of letting my classes have a free day?  Like, a study hall?  You can, uh, talk if you’d like, but that’s just my thoughts, and I am the teacher, so…”

The class remained silent until an Asian preppy girl spoke up.  “Wait, so we don’t have to do anything?” Gerard shrugged and nodded.  “Sweet!”  The rest of the class chirped their concordance.

“Dude, how did you even become a teacher?” some jock asked.  “You cuss and you don’t make us do anything.”

Gerard’s cheeks flared red.  He thought he’d been doing a decent job teaching…  “Uh, I was going to become a park ranger, but you all can see how _that_ dream worked out for me.  My credits fit for teaching, so I kinda just went with it…” He trailed off at the end of the sentence, losing his initial confidence.

“Why the fuck would you want to be a park ranger?”

He tried so hard to _not_ melt to the ground.  There was nothing he’d rather do than be a park ranger.  “Uh, just fit my interests, y’know?”

“No.”

Well, then.

Time went by without a single student acknowledging him, and he had to say he sort of missed the socialness of his seventh hour class.  Of course, it’d be as awkward as fuck to see Fred— er, Frank, since he had driven him to Bob’s and the kid obviously _liked_ him, but still.  He’d rather have that than these judgmental brats he had for his other five periods.

But when seventh hour finally came, he felt himself get a little queasy and nervous.  Would they still talk to him? Or would they decide he’s too awkward for them and call him out on it or something?  What if one of them told Grapefruit about what he had said about her? (He’d had the elevator all to himself that day, luckily).  Suddenly, he had to pee, like, really bad.

“Mr. Way!” several kids greeted him as they passed by his desk.  He was too busy having a panic attack to answer.

The panicking worsened as soon as Frank walked through the door, which was relatively soon.  “Hey, Mr. Way!  Thanks again for the ride yesterday.”

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” he said— rather, he _tried_ to say, but it came out more like a high-pitched squeak.

“Dude,” one of the students said, coming up to his side.  “You okay?”

“I have to pee!” Gerard cried out before running out the room towards the bathroom.  He really did have to go, but that wasn’t the main reason for leaving.  He needed to collect his thoughts, too. And devise a plan to keep Frank from coming to his house that night.

 

***

 

The class sat in respectable silence waiting for Mr. Way’s return.  Frank had spent the entire day waiting to see him.  He looked good today, in a plain black dress shirt and a red tie.  Like, really good.  _Slay me now,_ Frank guiltlessly thought.

“I think he’s nervous,” a boy (Josh? Mark?) stated through the silence.

“We should do something to make him feel more welcomed,” another girl said (and hell if Frank had any idea whatsoever what _her_ name was).

“Guys, we should bring him a cake or something!”

And so the idea was formulated to give him a surprise gift basket and cake on Monday afternoon to make him feel more comfortable.  Frank wanted to have nothing to do with the plan, mostly because he liked to keep his silence, but Becky forced him into finding out what kind of cake he liked.

“You are friends with his brother, Mike, right?” she asked, the bitch rolling off her tongue thickly.

“It’s Mikey, and yeah.  I guess I could find out.”

He hesitantly exchanged numbers with the bitch just as Mr. Way reentered the room.

“Sorry,” he murmured.  “Haven’t left the room all day and coffee goes right through me.”  A couple people smiled at him, Frank included.  “So.” He clapped his hands together and rolled his shoulders.  “Uh, free day today. Anyone have anything they want to do in particular?”

“Can we at least get a homework assignment?” Becky asked.  Everyone groaned.

“Not in the curriculum,” Mr. Way mumbled, obviously bluffing, but no one called him out on it.

Frank attempted to stare at anything _but_ Mr. Way’s sexy (yes, it was sexy) attire, but it seemed that every time he allowed his mind to wander, his eyes made their way back to Mr. Way.  He was wearing eyeliner again, and it made the hazel pop so perfectly that Frank wanted to melt.

 _Stop being a hormone-induced teenage boy, Frank,_ Jerk in His Head warned.  But Frank easily evaded the voice; Mr. Way’s quirky attitude was enough of a distraction in itself.

 

***

 

When the school day ended, Gerard wanted to crumble.  Especially as he watched the entire class shuffle out of the room _except_ for Frank.  He remained with a small smile planted on his lips.

“Is Mikey meeting us up here, or…?” Frank asked Gerard once the room was empty.

“Uh, I d-don’t know.  He kinda left me with Grape— er, Grafton yesterday, but he learned his lesson and—” He stopped himself, knowing he made absolutely no sense.  What he had been _trying_ to say was that Mikey had been bitch slapped- twice- and would probably not be late again. Instead of saying that, though, it came out a giant blob of muddled words.

Frank just nodded and grinned at him.  “So, you live with Mikey still, huh?” he inquired. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

“Y-yeah,” Gerard replied.  _Stay polite, Gerard.  You can do this.  You can form a proper sentence while being polite_.  “My mom doesn’t really like me to ‘cause she thinks I’ll rub off on Mikey, but I’m kind of broke.”

“You and me both,” Frank murmured while chuckling softly.

“So… you like catching people’s hair on fire?” Gerard had no idea why he asked, but he was more than curious now.

Frank turned beat red.  _My oh my, how the tables have turned._ “Just for senior pranks and all.  Nothing serious.”

Gerard nodded, taking turns staring at his phone screen and the ground. No fucking way.  Mikey was not about to make a repeat of yesterday’s events, not with _Frank_ here.

“I, um, I’m gonna sit down for a bit and catch up on school shit.  Um, I mean school stuff.  You can work on some homework or something while we wait, since it’s obvious we’re going to be waiting.”

“Sure,” Frank agreed, that creepy smile permanently plastered across his face.

In reality, Gerard just fired up _The Sims_ , trying not to get too excited when his Sim successfully became a concert pianist.  He was proud of her; she had overcame many obstacles to reach that status.

Three and a half Sim days later, Mikey walked into the room, panting.

“Sorry!” he instantly began, the excuses ready to pour out of his stupid mouth. “I got caught up in my cl—”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” Gerard said without looking up from his screen.  He added a middle finger in order to obtain the desired effect.

“No!  You can’t go all Rhett Butler on me like that!  You haven’t even heard what I was going to say.”

“Hence the ‘don’t give a damn’ part,” Gerard explained, shutting his toaster/laptop and standing up from his desk.  Suddenly remembering Frank, he blushed.  “Uh, ready to go?”

“Yup!” Frank assured, stuffing his schoolwork into his backpack.

Gerard walked ahead while Mikey and Frank hurried along behind, discussing their project.  Gerard reluctantly decided to use the stairs when he saw a cranky looking janitor standing by the elevator doors.  Going down was always easier than going up, anyway.

“Hey, G!” Mikey yelled from behind.  “Can we stop for Starbucks on the way home?”

Cursing himself for being a coffee addict, Gerard agreed.  He didn’t particularly want to spend more time in a closed space with the tattoo kid than he had to.  But the thought of a fresh Mocha Frappuccino had his mouth watering, quite literally, to his horror.

Once they were all secure inside of Gerard’s minivan, he started the car and music began blaring through the speakers.  Normally, he’d happily sing along, but Frank’s gaze kept him stiffly planted in his seat.

“Uh, G-way?” Mikey said confusedly, nudging his arm.  “Want to start driving instead of impersonating a statue?”

Gerard shook his head, snapping out of his daze.  He pulled out of the parking lot and made his way to the closest Starbucks, thinking of nothing but the rich scent of coffee beans.

“Why you driving so slow?” Mikey whined.

Looking down at his dashboard, Gerard saw he was going exactly one over the speed limit.  “I’m not.  I have to keep the speed limit, Mikes.  Minivans naturally attract the fuzz.  You know, cuz potential rapists and pedophiles drive them.”

“That’s van-vans, dumbass, not minivans.”

“Fuck you—” he started to say, before remembering there was a student in his back seat.  Which sounded oddly pedophiliac.  Maybe the fuzz _should_ stop him…

The rest of the drive was pretty quiet.  Gerard insisted that they went through the drive-thru so he wouldn’t have to get out of the car, and both the other boys readily agreed.  As soon as Gerard pulled into his beaten down driveway, he made a run for his Sanctuary.  Otherwise known as the bathroom.  Lucky for him, he had left his unread seventh addition of _The Wicked + The Divine_ on the bathroom counter, so he had something to do while they boys worked.

But he had it read and reread after only twenty minutes, and he found himself awkwardly rubbing the tiled floors of the bathroom.  The boys were silent in his room, but nobody had called for him to drop Frank off at wherever he lived.  He sent a text out to Mikey: _u fuking finished yet?  Bored as fuk rite now…_

Mikey quickly sent back: _dude wtf get out of the bathroom u freak._

Gerard moaned and thought of things he could do while waiting.  Play games on his phone.  Too boring.  Take a shower.  Too personal-hygieney.  Re-reread his comic.  Too repetitive- he practically had the thing memorized by now.

He settled for taking a nap on the bathroom floor.  It was about as comfortable as sleeping on a bed of rocks, but it beat being confronted by Frank. God, was he antisocial.

He awoke to a loud pounding on the door.  “Gerard Arthur Way!” a masculine voice shouted through the thick wood of the door.  His mother.  He was in for it now.  “Get your lazy ass out of that bathroom and be a normal human being, _now!_ ”

“Yes, Mama,” he said, obligated to listen to his mother.

He checked his phone and saw it was nearly eight and Frank _still_ hadn’t left.  Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet, his back loudly cracking from sleeping on the hard tiles.

His mom slapped his ass as he walked past, not in a creepy perverted way, rather a _You’re a disappointment to us all, now here’s your punishment_ way.  Dragging his feet to his room, he walked in on Frank and Mikey definitely _not_ working on a school project.

He immediately turned right back around, wanting to see anything _but_ what was happening between the two.  He raced around the small house, the small surface area not giving him anywhere to hide but his old, creepy basement bedroom. It smelled weird and had a strange mold growing in one corner, but he’d rather suffocate in its awfulness than be around Mikey and Frank.

He burrowed his head in his old mildewy pillow (which probably wasn’t best for his health) and willed the image of his little brother and that _freak_ out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duhn duhn duhn! Ha. This isn't a Frikey fic, don't worry |˚–˚|


	4. Et tu, Brute?

It took him a full twenty-three minutes of suffocation in the small room to calm down, but finally, Gerard was able to pull himself out of bed and up the creaky stairs. Mostly just because he was hungry and tired of hearing his phone repeatedly ring from the texts Mikey had sent (he had set his text message ring to meow like a cat). Totally not because the basement room scared the hell out of him, no, never that. As he stumbled up the steps in his stinging body limbs, he shuddered at the thought of even living down there in his youth. Someone was definitely hacked into pieces in that room, no doubt.

After a brief debate over whether Ritz crackers or Cinnamon Toast Crunch would better satisfy his hunger, Gerard settled down on the couch with a sleeve of Ritz.  Soon, his white fur ball dog, Bijou, joined his side (or rather planted herself smack dab in the center of his lap- and hell, she was _not_ built to be a lapdog).

“You only love me because I have food,” he said while rubbing his face in her ragged, unkempt fur. It smelled of outside and, well, dog, but he didn’t really mind. He probably smelled worse. She moved away from his touch and sniffed at the cracker he was holding.  “Your silence is compliance, you little shit.”  He gave her the cracker, promising himself that they’d only eat a few more each.

Two and a half sleeves later, a stuffed Gerard was shoving his trash between the couch cushions for someone to unexpectedly find later, frowning at his utter laziness. Bijou was gone as soon as the food disappeared, probably off to go shit under his and Mikey’s bed.  Speaking of which…

He looked down at his phone as it meowed again.  From Mikey, of course.  Who else.  _We r watching dawn of the dead.  I no u can’t resist._

Sighing, Gerard tapped his fingers across the screen, finally giving in out of annoyance.  It’s not like he could avoid his disgusting brother forever.  _Which one? Doesn’t frnk hav somewhere to b?_ Autocorrect sent the last part as _Debut from have somewhere to be,_ but Gerard thought that Mikey could still understand.

All he got back was: _1978._ Dammit, he was right; Gerard _couldn’t_ resist.  He shoved his phone in his butt pocket and tentatively lurked forward, toward his room. Peeking through the crack in the doorway, he made out two silhouetted figures, sitting on _his_ top bunk.  No fucking way was that going to pass with him. But first, he had to address the vulgarity he’d seen earlier.

“Um, knock-knock?” he spoke stupidly. Why did he always sound like a complete idiot in the presence of anyone other than Mikey? He couldn’t even blame it on bad genes— Mikey got by fine, his father was a somewhat successful lobbyist, and even his mother could hold a conversation when she wasn’t scaring people off with her uncanny tendencies to scream complaints at any customer service worker.  Especially the telemarketing foreigners. Gerard felt double bad for them.

Mikey eyed him for a moment, or at least Gerard thought he did. It was hard to tell with only the dull glow of the hall light shining in the shadowy room. “What’s up with you?”

Gerard wanted to puke all over again. He was unsure if this was the right time and place to have this conversation, what with that ogling child sitting on _his_ mattress, taking up _his_ space, but Gerard had to get it out of his system. Like, now.

He swallowed nervously and moved to sit at the desk he and Mikey shared. Not knowing how to start talking, he plainly spurted out, “Are you gay?” Which immediately caused them all to cringe. Nope, this definitely was _not_ the right approach.

“Are you fucking serious, G?” Mikey spat out in disgust. Okay, so that was a bit hurtful, considering the fact that Mikey knew Gerard was sensitive about being a little (okay, a lot) bit gay himself. Mikey must’ve used his brotherly bonding superpowers to read Gerard’s thoughts, for he quickly added, “No, you just know that that’s not me, man. What- why would you even ask?”

“You were kissing Frank!” he couldn’t help but to shout.

“Uh…” Frank awkwardly mumbled, recoiling into himself a bit. “I should probably be getting to Bob’s soon. He’ll be royally pissed if I get there any later.”

 _Damn straight, you should_ , Gerard thought.

Mikey obviously wasn’t ready for the change in conversation, though. “ _What_? I wasn’t kissing him, you freak!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gerard mocked while rolling his eyes. “Wasn’t aware that two dudes’ faces smashed together was defined as anything _but_ kissing. Thanks for clearing it up, you…you.” Dammit. He was out of insults. New approach. “You have the IQ of,” shit, “a piece of, like, lint or something!”

And of course they both ended up giggling uncontrollably, because Gerard truly was a failure when it came to most things, especially throwing insults.  Frank sat vacantly staring through it all, obviously made uncomfortable witnessing the fighting of his friend and his teacher.

“I think I’ll just walk home,” he offered.  “It’s not too late or dark or anything… Peter the Perv doesn’t come out ‘till way late at night, anyway.” He sprung up from Gerard’sspot on the bed. “See ya, Mikey, Mr. Way.”

Gerard hated acting like a responsible adult, but he grabbed Frank’s wrist anyway, stopping the boy. The hopeful look in his eyes made him immediately want to shove him to the ground in regret, but he settled for saying, “No, no.  We’ll, uh… We can probably take you real quick, if you’d like.” He turned to Mikey. “We’ll continue this discussion at later times.” He added a concrete glare for good measure. “Uh, okay kids, get in my van.” Not creepy at all.

As soon as Frank hopped out of the car, thanking Gerard for the billionth time and oddly asking him what his favorite flavor of cake was (red velvet, of course.  Who could fucking pass up red velvet?), Gerard was filled with relief. Social interactions built up anxiety, especially long-term ones. He stretched his hands over the steering wheel and savored the calm, cracking noise they made as the joints snapped. Soon, though, Mikey was prodding at his ribcage with a piercing, bony finger.

“Ow! What?” he cried out, batting the still-poking finger.

“Can we get coffee?”

Gerard crinkled his nose. “It’s nine at night and I’m broke. No.”

“Which is why I grabbed Mom’s credit card on the way out.  See? I plan these things ahead.”

“Mikey, you little snatch!” Gerard blurted out. “Er, no disrespect towards girls’ hoo-ha’s… Uh. I’m not buying coffee with that.” He searched for a way to divert the conversation... The kiss.  Duh. “So. You and Frank. Could’ve sworn that kid had a gushing crush on me.”

“Jealous much?” To which Gerard wasn’t. “No, it’s not like that. I really wasn’t kissing Frank. Besides, it’s pretty obvious he’s head over heels for you, though I’m not sure what he sees in your smelly, awkward self.”

“Hey- I bathed yesterday!” There was no point in defending himself further, though, because Mikey was mostly right. He was awkward and he didn’t like showers. That much was obvious. “Okay, so what were you two doing, then?”

Suddenly, Mikey blushed profoundly. “Can we not talk about it?”

“We’re talking about it.” The car in front of Gerard wasn’t moving after the light turned green, and Mikey reached over and honked. “Dude!” Gerard said. “Don’t do that.”

“It got their attention,” Mikey pointed out with a shrug of the shoulders. “Okay. If you promise not to make fun of me, I’ll tell you what we were doing.”

Gerard tried, and failed, not to laugh in his brother’s face. “You’re talking to _me,_ Mikes. Like, the Superhero of Awkwardness and Failures. Like, uh, Captain… Failure, or something. Saving the day while still failing at life. Uh. Yeah.”

Mikey inhaled a deep gush of air that made his hollow cheeks look normal sized before he blurted out, well, something.

“What?” Gerard asked, craning his neck in attempt of hearing him better. The kid mumbled, and it didn’t help that Gerard had the hearing of a seventy year old senior citizen. “Slow down and speak up.”

Mikey was cherry red at this point, but managed to say between hazardous breaths of air, “This doesn’t count as a kiss, but I did kiss Frank.”

“WHAT?” Gerard screeched as he slammed on the brakes. Luckily for their own safety, they were on a residential street, so it wasn’t like he was disrupting traffic or anything. “No you didn't! You’re straight as a fucking board!”

“Well isn’t that what you thought in the first place? That we _kissed_?” he spat out in disgust. To be honest, Gerard never truly believed it was true. He thought there had to be some logical explanation. “I’m not gay, I just felt bad!”

“About?” Gerard prompted, stepping on the gas pedal after a rude honk from behind. “See how honking feels? It’s hurtful.”

“Shut up about the honking! I felt bad because Frank had only had one boyfriend and doesn’t know how to kiss! Being the straight, nice friend I am, I volunteered to help. I thought it’d feel platonic and like nothing, but it was disgusting and just ew, ew, ew! I need that coffee to burn the taste from my mouth.”

“There was _tongue?_ ”

“Ew, Gerard! No… Uh. I don’t want to talk about the specifics.”

Gerard clicked his tongue. “From second cousins to drunken party girls to gay friends. My oh my, Mikey, are you versatile.”

“Oh would you shut the fuck up! At least I’ve had kisses before!”

“What, so are you going to kiss me, now, too? You the gay-boy-with-no-experience therapist or something?”

“Okay, please don’t ever say anything like that again. Mental image deleted. Thank you.”

Gerard shook his head. He did not want to think of his little brother kissing anyone, especially one of his students, a gay one. Just… no.

“Can we please just go get that fucking coffee, G? I can’t stop thinking of Frank’s taste and—”

“Ew, no, okay. Who’s Frank? Nothing happened with said made up person, Frank. Fine, coffee with stolen money, okay.”

And so they each enjoyed a cup of strong, black coffee, neither of them saying a word about kissing or their mom’s credit card or Frank.

 

***

 

The rest of Gerard’s weekend was boring and uneventful, just how he liked it. Friday night was spent watching _Dawn of the Dead_ \- the 1978 version, of course. Gerard fell asleep just as Peter was contemplating suicide, but that was always his least favorite part, anyway.

Saturday morning, he awoke to his mother’s raging voice. Apparently she was the lucky finder of his trash stash under the couch cushions (that had admittedly been building up for months), so he was assigned the lovely job of cleaning the entire living room. He must have done a damn good job of it, too, for immediately after, his pleased mother gave him the kitchen to clean. And then the bathroom. By the time he was finished, he smelled of bleach and dust but was too worn out to hop in the shower. Another time, perhaps.

Sunday was when Gerard had an epiphany. It had started with him and Mikey sharing a bowl of popcorn in their bedroom, flipping through channels on their box-shaped TV. Mikey stopped on the 2005 version of _Pride & Prejudice, _much to Gerard’s approval.

“I love Keira Knightley,” Mikey sighed.

“I love Matthew Macfadyen,” Gerard replied back in his own lovesick voice. He’d take a Mr. Darcy any day, even if he had no idea how to court a girl. His oblivion was sort of attractive… and so was his face.

“I haven’t read that book in ages,” Mikey said with a shake of his head once the commercial break started. “Don’t we have it somewhere? Like maybe in the bookcase in your basement bedroom? Man, it has to be ruined now, sitting in your mildewed room after all those years. Dammit, we need to call someone to fix the leak or else it’ll…”

But Gerard was no longer listening to his brother’s senseless rant. _Pride & Prejudice _was a book. A classical one. Schools loved classical books, right? That’s why he was forced to read godawful historical books such as _The Grapes of Wrath_ and _The Magic School Bus_. He trembled at the thought. But he could totally get by with that being the book he gave his students…right? Surely they’d count that as educational. It used fancy words and shit.

“…and then he apparently died from the fungus growing on his lungs, which is a pretty badass way to go out, if you ask me, but—”

“Eureka, I’ve got it!” Gerard interrupted.

Mikey seemed unfazed by the disruption of his monologue, politely asking, “Got what?”

“The book I’m going to make my kids read!  _Pride & Prejudice!_ It’s perfect! Mr. Darcy is perfect! Jesus Christ, _I’m_ perfect! Oh my goodness, this is going to be great, Mikes!” To prove his enthusiasm, he pushed the popcorn aside and fired up his laptop, pulling up a site about Jane Austen and her brilliance. He then typed into the Google search engine, _Lesson plans for pride and predijuice_ (the spelling was tough, okay?). Quickly, though, he lost interests in planning and focused his attention back to the movie. Planning could wait- Mr. Darcy’s hotness couldn’t. Besides, he was totally the Master of Procrastination. He still had several days to work up a plan.

But then there was still his lesson plan for Monday. What the hell were teachers supposed to do? No amount of training sessions and meetings could prepare him for how to truly teach properly. He supposed he could be one of those bitch-ass teachers everyone hated and make Monday’s grammar days. He tried to imagine the students’ reactions.

(“Okay, class. Prepare yourself to take notes, ‘cause it’s Grammar Monday!”)

(“Fuck you, Mr. Way!”)

(“Go to hell!”)

(“We liked Mr. Toro better, you dumb shit!”)

Yup. There would be no Grammar Monday. That left him with nothing, though. He supposed he could have a class discussion on recent global news, but that required him to speak _and_ be knowledgeable on current topics. The odds were against him on that one. Spelling contest, Mad Libs, poem studies, no no no no no—

“Whatcha thinking about, G-way?” Mikey asked upon entering their room later that day. Shit. It was already ten at night and he still had no idea what to do.

Mikey climbed up next to Gerard in bed and curled into him. Gerard groaned an unnecessarily loud sound that might be associated with the growl of a hungry chupacabra. “What the hell am I supposed to do in class tomorrow? Mikes, I suck at this whole ‘be a responsible adult and hold a job’ thing. I just want to eat Cheetos and play video games and listen to music and read. Is that so much to ask?”

Mikey sighed, digging his head painfully into the crook of Gerard’s neck. “According to Mom and social norms, it is. Damn, now I want some Cheetos, you ass.”

“What should I do?” Gerard asked again, desperate for someone else to give him an answer. Mikey, God, Mrs. Grapefruit, whoever. Preferably not Grapefruit, but he’d take anything at this point.

“Didn’t they give you some sort of guide to go off of?” Mikey questioned. Gerard shook his head no. Okay, maybe they did, but it was super confusing and hard to follow and in long paragraphs. If the district honestly wanted him to follow it, they wouldn’t put it in long paragraphs. “Or, like, didn’t Mr. Toro leave his plans? I don’t know, Gerard!” he added when Gerard shot him a pathetic look. “I’m just a boy, not a fucking working man.”

“Just a boy, right,” Gerard sighed. “I guess I could just have another free day.”

Mikey shook his head against Gerard’s shoulder. “You’re going to get in trouble if that keeps going on, G. Like, sure, most of the kids like it, but one student will speak out and then bam- you’re a jobless hobo living on the streets.”

“Why would I have to be a hobo?”

“Mom’d kick your ass out, that’s why. Shit. Maybe you could just introduce the book to the students?”

Gerard yawned, rubbing his face irritably. “But that leaves me nowhere for Wednesday. Crap. I haven’t even thought about the goddamn Tuesday plans yet. Who the hell even invented Tuesday’s? They suck balls even more than Monday’s. Like, at least on Monday everyone’s asleep and a mindless zombie, but on Tuesday, we’re all awake and alert and there’s still three more days to go until the weekend. I fucking hate Tuesday’s.”

Mikey sat in silence for a moment, cuddling into his brother, before slipping down to his bottom bunk with a guilty smile. “Well, I’m off to bed. Good luck!”

Which double pissed Gerard off. Since when had Mikey gone to bed at any time before midnight? He felt utterly betrayed- by the planning spirits of the earth, by the teacher gods, by his own brother. “Et tu, Brute?” he muttered, his face squashed into his pillow.

“Love you too, G,” Mikey mumbled back, shutting off their lamp. The small light of his Gameboy Advance under his blankets had Gerard’s blood boiling, but he calmed himself by watching Olan Rogers videos and shading his nails black with a Sharpie in the faint glow of his laptop screen. He was pretty sure Sharpied nails went against school dress code, but he was a little beyond caring in his stressful mood. _Maybe_ if the fucking school told him what to do in shorter paragraphs, he would obey their stupid laws. Maybe. Okay, it would be safe to assume he wouldn’t, but still. Why were the paragraphs so _long?_

He’d figure it out in the morning. That’s what he kept telling himself as the world gradually faded into his dreamland. In the morning… Master of Procrastination… Morning…

“In the morning,” as to be expected, didn’t happen. What did happen was Gerard was awoken exactly five minutes after the time they should’ve left.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, slipping into some semi-clean smelling black skinny jeans. Which wasn’t so easy since they were skinny jeans. “Shit, shit, _shit!”_

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, young man?” asked a fully dressed, showered, and fed Mikey. That little bitch.

“I’m pretty sure my mother is the one who taught me those words. Shit! Help me find a clean, professional shirt, Mikey!”

“Good luck with the clean part,” he mumbled under his breath.

Gerard could totally skip another day of bathing. It had been, what, two days? Three… Okay, four. But he smelled decent and his hair wasn’t _that_ greasy. Nothing a little water and eyeliner couldn’t fix, really. He thought he could get by in a leather jacket that semi-covered his _Radiohead_ shirt- it’d have to do, regardless, because they had a school to get to.

“You know, by not waking me up, you’re only hurting yourself,” Gerard pointed out. “Because I don’t have a class first hour. You do.”

Mikey shot him a _don’t be ridiculous_ look that Gerard didn’t really understand. “Personal Finance, G. Like Mr. Steele will be done banging Ms. Wicket by the time I get to class.”

“ _What_?”

“Yeah, it’s apparently a regular practice of theirs. Steele’s pretty chill, though, so keep your mouth shut, alright?”

Gerard just shook his head and turned into the school. Only to realize he forgot his parking pass again, but so far he hadn’t been caught. “Dammit,” he cursed under his breath. “There’re no fucking places to park close to the entrance. Guess we’ll be walking today, Mikes.” He craned his neck in search of a spot he could fit his hulking minivan into that wasn’t _too_ far back.

“That only seems to be a problem with you, Gerard.”

“Always with the snide comments, you are.”

Nobody seemed to notice the brothers’ late entrance, thank the tardy gods, and they both easily slipped into their respected classrooms. Gerard settled for having a discussion day that required minimal speaking on his part and no knowledge of international events. They’d discuss their favorite books or poems or something. That was pretty damn educational, if Gerard’s ever heard of it. ‘Bout as educational of plans as they come.

But then second hour happened and it sure as hell wasn’t very educational sounding.

“My favorite book is _Fifty Shades of—_ ”

“Nope,” Gerard said immediately. He was all for respecting other people’s book preferences, but that didn’t even count as a book. “Next?”

“Uh, I like the book _The Grapes of Wrath_ because—”

“Jesus _Christ,_ what’s wrong with your guys’ sense of good literature?” Gerard couldn’t help but to blurt out. “Uh, I mean, uh… Keep going?”

And then lunch rolled around again and Gerard sat staring at the clock, waiting for his misery to end. “Woe is fucking me,” he murmured, thinking of Cheetos for about the fifth time that minute. He was never allowed to have them when he was younger. Something about his mother having to live off of their crunchy goodness while she was pregnant with Gerard. Whatever. They were delicious; there was no denying that. He turned on his Ghost Radar app, just to see if his classroom was haunted or something, but the dial kept spinning and spinning, picking up nothing. Shame. It would’ve been cool to have a classroom ghost. Or even the spirit of Mr. Toro’s fro. That’d be beyond awesome.

“Knock-knock, Mr. Way!” a way too cheerful voice chirped. Gerard suddenly wished he’d never said that before. It sounded incredibly stupid.

Grapefruit invited herself in, along with a cranky looking old man that could easily be Carl Fredricksen and a red head whose face resembled that of a donkey.

“Uh, hey?” he offered, willing himself to not cuss, no cussing. “Sup?” Isn’t that what cool people said?

“We can’t stay for long because classes start soon,” Donkey said, her voice surprisingly clear and pretty. “Here in the English Department, we believe in tight friendships and collaboration among the teachers, so we often get together in celebration. Precisely once a month.” Gerard groaned. Pleasant. When Grapefruit shot him a puzzled look, he tried to pass the groan off as a noise of excitement. Tried, and failed, of course.

“So,” Mr. Fredricksen said, and yup, he definitely came straight out of the movie, “this Friday after school, we are holding a barbeque at my home. There will be hamburgers and wieners,” to which Gerard desperately stifled a laugh, “as well as swimming in my indoor pool. I ask only that you bring a side dish or a dessert.”

Shit. How was he supposed to respond to that? He scratched the back of his skull and brought his legs up to his chest, still sitting in his chair. “Uh, sounds like you guys have a lot of fun and shi— stuff. Right. Um, but I’m gonna have to pass. My little brother Mikey has, um… soccer practice?” Which was an outright lie. He didn’t think Mikey’d ever even touched a soccer ball in his life. “But you guys have fun! Socializing and, um… eating wieners.” _Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t fucking laugh._

Grapefruit rolled her stupid almond eyes. “Mr. Way, you and I both know Michael doesn’t participate in extracurricular activities. You’re coming to the barbeque.” Just then, the bell conveniently rang. “Don’t forget a side!” her voice echoed as she clacked out the room in her heels.

“Fuck you, too,” he mumbled into his arms, ignoring the sea of students flooding into his room. Great. A barbeque. With people. And _bathing suits._ Friday was destined to be a complete and utter disaster.


	5. Three Cheers for Sweet Wieners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the chapter title :P You know you like it

When the final hour of the school day finally rolled around, Gerard was equally relieved and anxious. He hadn’t talked to Frank since his and Mikey the Gay Boy Therapist incident, and he certainly wanted to keep it that way. Every time he glanced his way, all he could stare at were his lips, the ones that had been on his little brother’s and— _Stop!_ he willed his brain. _Stop, stop, stop!_

“Mr. Way?” a student— Alisha— said, breaking up his thoughts. “Are we actually going to do something today?”

Good question. A valid one, at least. “Uh, right, yeah. Book discussions. Talk about a book you like. Um, you go first, Alisha.”

“It’s Ember,” the girl corrected.

“Cool. Amber. Got it. Proceed.”

But then she started on the many wonders and themes of _The Hunger Games_ , and as far as Gerard was concerned, that book was only about killing and being hungry, so he began to zone out. Specifically, he leaned his head on his hand and gazed at the fucking brother-kisser. Frank hadn’t looked up yet to catch him staring, so he didn’t feel quite as guilty as he should. Light flickered off his lower lip, causing Gerard to squint for a better view. Hm. A lip ring. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but it sent shudders down his spine. Why would someone purposely stick a sharp, pointy needle through their food hole? It was repulsing.

And sort of attractive. Just sort of.

And then Frank met his eyes and Gerard dramatically gagged, oblivious (or maybe not) to the fact that it might hurt the younger boy’s feelings. He quickly turned his face to stare at the wall next to him, wiling the burn in his cheeks to take a hike.

“Are you even listening?” he faintly heard from a distance.

“No,” he answered on impulse. “Er, uh, yeah, yeah. Continue on. That sounds great. Whatsherface. Uh, Catnip! She sounds like me in my teenage days. A real rebel.” Not really, but that sounded just about like the right thing to say.

The girl just scoffed and flipped her hair. Like a pro bitch.

“Who’s, uh, n-next?” Gerard mumbled as he hobbled to the front of the class, trying to ignore the many pairs of eyes on him. Especially Frank’s.

Nobody raised their hand or spoke up. In fact, most of the kids were silent all together. Only a few whispers escaped from the back of the room, something about a girl named Anne’s knocked up father (and he was more than curious to hear _that_ story). But the silence made him nervous. Seventh period was supposed to be his fun class, his comfortable one. The awkward nothingness felt all but comfortable.

“Or we could just get off topic until I figure out how the hell to teach.”

Which got them all chirping in excitedly. All except Becky Bitch, of course.

“The educational system relies on—” she tried to begin.

But her shrill voice was quickly (and thankfully) cut off by the rambles of her comrades.  Soon, Gerard was at the point of listening to his students’ stories about godawful class pets and ramen— the dinner of the champions aka poor people— and everything else under the sun. He smiled as Becky’s scrunched up face slowly began to ease out of its crinkled state until she, too, was sharing a story. That’s right. No one could resist Story Telling time.

The week passed uneventfully. Gerard luckily got out of detention duty for the week due to an incident with a pervy janitor. Apparently he liked his job working alongside high schoolers a little too much. No students were allowed to stay after three o’clock until they sorted out the deal.

Wednesday, he successfully got _Pride & Prejudice _passed out to everyone. They all seemed pretty excited, mostly due to the mention of a movie at the end of the unit. Whatever. At least he had an educational curriculum to go by now.

“Read to chapter one by next Wednesday,” he had announced to his sixth hour class the other day. “Uh, there will most likely be a quiz over it, or something.”

Most people gawked at him, one saying, “A whole _week_ to read one chapter?”

He eyed the class back, equally confused. “Yeah. You guys actually _want_ extra homework?”

They all shook their heads no and that was that.

Now, though, Gerard felt the need to hide in a small box like a cat for the rest of forever. One- Frank was over again to work on his and Mikey’s stupid project of stupidness. Apparently, he’d be spending the night… Two- Gerard was on his man period and desperately wanted to gorge on Cheez-Its and Hammy Sammy’s and everything else in sight.  Which wasn’t the best idea, due to his third complication- he had to go to that fucking barbeque that night.

Sure, hotdogs sounded delicious in his Hungry-Hungry-Hippo situation, but that was just the thing. He looked fat. Like, fatter than his usual chubbiness. There would be swimming. He would be in a _bathing suit. Without a shirt on._ Jesus Christ. He did not need to give _Grapefruit_ another reason to think him incompetent and out of shape.

Speaking of the Spawn of Satan. She would be there. So would her little clique of horse faced, old-ass teachers. He knew they’d leave him out of things- it’d be just like high school. He’d be sitting in the corner of the back patio, stuffing his face with wieners while everyone else pretended he didn’t exist. That is, until they’d pressure him into swimming in the indoor pool, forcing him to show off his currently bulging tummy to the entire Evert Hill South staff. Fucking Abaddon, Beelzebub, Lucifer, _whatever,_ needed to return to the pit of hell where she was needed.

“Dude,” Mikey said upon passing his crumpled state on the living room floor. He shoved him in the side with his foot, generating a groan of agony from Gerard. “Doesn’t your little teacher party start at five? It’s four-thirty.”

Gerard was gonna answer, but then he spotted Frank walking in out of the corner of his eye and shut up.

“Mr. Way?”

 _Please shoot me now,_ Gerard thought.

“This would be a funny sight if you didn’t look so… _sick_. _”_

_It’s because of you._

“What’s wrong?”

_YOU ARE! You’re wrong. You, you, you, you, you—_

“He’s just being a whiny-ass,” Mikey concluded, kicking him again, harder this time. Great. Now he’d be fat _and_ have an ugly bruise. “Get up, G, seriously. They already hate you- being late will only add to their hatred.” He began to walk away, but paused mid-step, glancing back at Gerard with a wry smile. “Don’t forget a side,” he reminded, mischievousness rolling off his tongue. “Grafton is a huge supporter of prohibition.” At that he winked and left Gerard on his own, thoughts and ideas already brewing in his mind. He could go for a drink right now. He could go for several.

 _No!_ he told himself. _Those days are past you now. Mikey was a bitch to bring it up. No._

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, pushing himself up to his feet and grabbing his car keys and swimming trunks. He was going to have a motherfucking _blast_ at this barbeque, alright. Even if it cost him what little respect he held in the Evert Hill South English Department.

 

***

 

All confidence, of course, melted away as he stepped out of his minivan onto the warm asphalt below. He shuffled on his feet, drawstring bag in one hand and a bag of half-eaten frosted animal crackers with sprinkles in the other. He had meant to go out and buy a better dessert (like one that wasn’t already eaten out of), but he was broke and perhaps not as great of a procrastinator as he liked to give himself credit for. Animal crackers were the universal cookie. Everyone liked animal crackers- Shirley Temple even sang about them. They’d have to do.

The Jersey air was unusually warm with the sunlight pouring down on his shoulders and clear skies above, but there was a certain chill in the wind that made Gerard’s nerves do all sorts of wonky things. He wanted to ostracize himself now, before the others were given the chance to.

Sighing, he began to force his legs forward towards the address he was given. The house was large, mansion-like, even. He wondered how a teacher’s salary could pay for the beast of a thing. It was made of brick and, despite it only being January, the grass was crisp and green. Gerard felt dirty and insecure walking even on the sidewalk, like his failure and lack of success would rub off on it or something.

As soon as he stopped in front of the door and reached for the doorbell, it was opened and he was greeted by a smiling old guy.

“Mr. Way! Glad you could make it,” the geezer greeted with a warm, almost genuine looking smile. All for show, of course. He wanted to build up Gerard’s comfort only to crush it later. Gerard just knew.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, of course, um… Mr. Fredricksen,” Gerard responded upon recognizing the man from earlier that week. He began poking at the concrete ground with his booted foot.

The man laughed, spittle escaping his lips, and _ew ew ew_ one drop landed on the sleeve of Gerard’s leather jacket. “Oh, I can already tell I’m going to like you. It’s Benedetti, Mr. Way. But you can just call me Raphael.”

“Like the Ninja Turtle,” Gerard whispered in awe. Mikey would be so excited.  “I, uh, brought a dessert,” he held up the animal crackers and cleared his throat, “and, um, yeah. Dessert.” _Awkwardness increased by twelve-thousand points._

But the man- Raphael- only smiled cordially. “Great! Come in, come in! You can store you jacket and bag in the office and put the dessert in the kitchen. Everyone is out back, waiting to get themselves a wiener.”

It was so unexpected that Gerard couldn’t help it. He burst into uncontrolled laughter, his voice high and sharp. The animal crackers slipped out of his hand and hit the concrete with a soft crunch. “Fucking wieners,” he choked out, rubbing his eyes and crinkling his face.

“Oh,” Raphael murmured, and yup, Gerard had already blown his chances of ever forming a decent relationship with him. “Oh! I never thought of it that way until now!”

And soon he was laughing too. Gerard was confused, but he didn’t question it. It felt sort of nice to have someone laugh with him, other than Mikey.

Soon he was placing his stuff in the office as directed, refusing to remove his leather jacket (it was his security!). Once finished, Raphael guided him through the house and holy fuck, it was enormous, okay. The kitchen in itself was like five times the size of his own, and there was a massive, old fashioned oven that made him feel very poor and out of place. Through the kitchen lead to French doors opening up to a large deck with lawn-chairs and fancy patio furniture. And of course, down the stairs was a good amount of English teachers just waiting to not notice his presence. Including fucking Grapefruit.

“Attention!” Raphael shouted from the top of the steps. Everyone’s voices quieted and eyes turned up to the duo. Gerard felt like he was publicly naked or something awful like that. “Attention! Evert Hill South has recently lost a dear staff member, Ray Toro, to a tragic hair accident.” Many of the teachers hummed in remembrance and what Gerard thought was sorrow. Christ. “Every storm ends with a rainbow, though,” to which Gerard didn’t believe to be true, “and our little rainbow of our own is our newest English Department Staff member, Mr. Gerard Way!”

Gerard wasn’t sure if the man had somehow caught on to his gayness already with the rainbow analogy, or if he was just sort of nuts, but his cheeks burned crimson anyway. The teachers clapped in mockery, he was sure of, and he suddenly felt the need to throw up.

“Uh, hi,” was all he was able to say when Raphael prompted him to speak. “I’m Gerard.” Silence. He looked over to Raphael, who nodded encouragingly. “And, um. I’m, like, ready to eat some wieners. Or something.”

A couple teachers rolled their eyes, but most smiled or chuckled and he blushed even more, if possible.

“Well then let’s get right to that!” Raphael cheered (which totally didn’t match his gloomy appearance, by the way), and began his way down the steps of the deck.

Gerard was left standing alone on the deck. He scanned the crowd, looking for a somewhat friendly face he could perhaps eat wieners next to. Horse face, creepy old lady, strict looking fledgling teacher like himself. All with stern glares on their ugly faces. None had laughed at his wiener joke. He spotted a nice, young chubby girl drinking out of what appeared to be a coffee mug. Target detected.

He slowly descended the stairs, not wanting to trip and humiliate himself. Of course, he tripped and humiliated himself anyway on the last step, nearly falling to the ground. Luckily, there had been a man standing by the bottom of the steps to catch him.

“Th-thanks,” he mumbled into the guy’s sleeve before pushing himself out the dude’s arms. He met the man’s eyes and holy _fuck_ were they a sight for sore eyes.

“Gerard, eh?” he said, his voice smooth and seductive. All Gerard could do was nod. “Name’s Brian Schechter. And this is my girlfriend, Ali.” Dammit. Well, it wasn’t like Gerard would be able to woo him anyway.

“Uh, hey. Um. So.”

Brian laughed, but it wasn’t as cute as his eyes. “You’re adorkable, Gerard.” He scuffled Gerard’s greasy hair, then frowned and wiped his hand off on his jeans. “Hey, look, food’s being served. Quick, get some before Kandy can eat the whole platter.”

“Kandy?” Gerard wondered curiously.

“Yeah, that fatass over there.” He pointed to the nice-looking coffee drinker. “Hate her guts more than any teacher here. Come on!”

“Uh, it’s okay,” he responded, turning around and walking away. Gerard marked Brian as a teacher never to talk to ever again and made his way to Kandy, again tripping, this time over a fern sitting inconveniently in the middle of the patio.

“Oh, hi!” she said when he cleared his throat from beside her. “Welcome to the squad! I’m Kandy Garcia.” She shook his hand and smiled a huge grin. Her makeup was wild and bright, but it added to her feeling of cheerfulness.

“Cool,” he said, adding his own smile. “I mean, Kandy is a cool name.”

She giggled, and Gerard couldn’t help but to let out his own small laugh. She like, radiated happiness and it made him feel a little better about himself. “I saw you talking to Brian. Was he giving you a hard time?”

“He sounds like a real asshole,” Gerard blurted out upon reflex. He immediately covered his mouth with his hands and coiled inside himself a bit. “Sorry,” he squealed.

Kandy shook her head and laughed, her blonde curls bouncing softly with the movement. “Don’t worry, I’m not an uptight wad like some of these people. You have that right with Brian, though. Not to spread any rumors or anything, which I’d _never_ do, but his girlfriend, Ali?” Gerard nodded. “Yeah, they’re only together because she’s got a loaf in the oven.”

Gerard gasped and again covered his mouth. “What? Are you serious?”

She winked. “Nah, I just really don’t like him.”

They laughed and moved to get a hotdog. Gerard refrained himself from getting like twelve hotdogs, despite his man period beckoning him to, and sat at a table under an umbrella with Kandy and some other mostly nice teachers.

The meal was pleasant, and to Gerard’s surprise, many of the teachers actually casually talked to him. They laughed at his terrible jokes and didn’t judge him when he went back for seconds (he’d swear on his grandmother’s grave that they put some catnip or something in those hotdogs- they were delicious and addictive).

But after dessert, Raphael invited them all to his indoor pool. It was nice, sure, but Gerard was currently in the state of mending his growing food baby and really couldn’t imagine swimming at that moment.

“Gerard, if I’m fitting my fat ass in a bathing suit, so are you,” Kandy whispered when he protested, elbowing him in the ribs.

“You’re not fat, and I don’t want to swim.”

“You have to, Mr. Way,” the fledging teacher said in a snob voice, already dressed in an all-too-revealing bikini. “Just change into your swimming drunks and dive in. The water’s fine!”

 _Easy for you to say,_ he thought. _You have the body of younger version of Heidi Klum._

Gerard’s body was more on the I-Just-Ate-Three-Younger-Heidi-Klums-and-a-Walrus side.

Eventually, though, after a hearty session of badgering from his fellow teachers, Gerard changed into his Batman swimming trunks. He refused to remove his gray undershirt, however, in fear that people would begin to ask whether the food baby was a boy or a girl.

“I feel insecure about my body,” he explained to a frowning Grapefruit.

“Obviously,” she spat out in disgust, turning and making her way to the hot-tub.

“Yeah, fuck you!” he whisper-yelled, enough for Kandy to hear. She only giggled.

Walking tentatively with his arms wrapped around himself, Gerard tiptoed to the edge of the shallow end. He was a horrible swimmer, so if he somehow fell in, at least he wouldn’t sink to the bottom and die.

Slowly, hesitantly, he dipped the very tip of his big toe in the clear water and shivered. He hated swimming. He hated his body. The only plus side was having Batman’s face spread across his ass, and even that wasn’t much of a comfort.

 _Nope,_ he thought, shaking his head and moments away from hiding in the bathroom for the rest of the night.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he heard Brian cry behind him. Before he knew it, he was falling. Falling, listening to a strident scream escape his throat, flailing his arms wildly.

And then _plop!_ He landed, belly first, on the surface of the water, a loud smack signaling the throbbing pain he would soon feel throughout his chest. Water surely splashed up on everyone from the disturbance, but Gerard was too busy drowning to notice. He tried opening his eyes to see how far away from the surface he was, but the chlorine burned and blurred his eyes so that he could see nothing. Stupidly, he opened his mouth to cry out, but that only let what little air his lungs held out in tiny little bubbles.

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Then there were arms wrapped around his chest and he felt himself being pulled up. When he surfaced, he coughed out water, his nostrils taking in the sweet, sweet air (even if it was tainted with a chemical smell). He huffed in as much of it as he could, thankful that he was a human and not a fish.

“Th-thank you,” he wheezed to his savior, which turned out to be Horse Face.

“Gerard, the water here is three feet deep,” she said in a monotone voice, obviously not amused.

“I know!” he yelped, brushing his long hair out of his eyes and pulling on his now clingy, wet shirt. “It’s dangerous, and like, totally not child proof!”

Most of the room was laughing, either at him or with him. He had a feeling it was the former, but somehow convinced himself of the latter. Kandy grabbed his hand as he climbed the nearest ladder out, smiling sweetly at him.

“You alright there, bud?” she laughed, stepping away from his dripping wet self.

He coughed a bit of water out of his lungs and nodded. “Water is, like, really scary.”

“Wanna just go to the hot-tub with me?”

He glanced over to the hot-tub and saw fucking Grapefruit staring back at him with a knowing smirk. He gulped. “Uh, no, it’s okay,” he told Kandy, still not breaking eye-contact with Grapefruit.

“Alright, suit yourself. Let’s get you toweled off, at least. Fabio!”

And then a butler— a fucking _butler—_ appeared at their side, handing Gerard several towels. Gerard readily took them, mumbling out a quiet word of thanks and heading towards the bathroom. He locked himself in, checked himself out, and nearly cried out at his raccoon reflection.

“My eye-liner!” he whimpered, bringing his fingertips up to his cheeks and touching the smeared black mess. “The package said it was waterproof.”

A soft knock followed by a cylinder object being pushed under the door caught his attention. He looked down at the tiled floor and smiled at the stick of eyeliner. “Thank you,” he said through the door, stilling grinning.

He dried off, reapplied, and changed into the clothes he came in, minus the wet gray undershirt. Exiting the bathroom, he handed Kandy back her eyeliner and offered her another smile. The rest of the night was spent socializing with Kandy and her friends, and Gerard had to admit that it wasn’t half bad. Not half bad at all.

He almost found himself reluctant to leave as the night came to an end. He would miss his new friends for the rest of the weekend.

“Bye, Gerard,” Kandy said over his shoulder as she hugged him farewell. “I’ll hopefully be seeing you on Monday. Perhaps you can join the squad for lunch!”

“Yeah, uh, of course,” he replied, hugging her back a bit awkwardly. “I’ll, uh, talk to you all later, then.”

Everyone waved him goodbye as he drove off in his minivan, of course hitting the curb at a turn for them all to see. Whatever.

He was all grins as he stepped onto the front porch, knocking on the door even though he knew it was unlocked. He began humming his favorite tune, about to step in, when suddenly the door was opened for him.

Oh, _shit_.

Frank’s glowing hazel eyes stared back at his from the inside of the house, a small smile planted across his pretty little lips.

Way to ruin a perfectly good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Here’s for all you wonderful readers! Sparkles and happiness and such.


	6. Zombies, Rainbows, and Incriminating Sketches

“Hey, Mr. Way! How was your evening?”

 _Fucking fine until I saw you,_ Gerard wanted to spit out at the adolescent boy. Out of common courtesy, though, he simply responded with, “Fine, thank you.” Frank stood in the doorway, grinning like a madman and lightly tapping his fingers against the doorframe. Clearing his throat, Gerard mumbled, “You’re blocking the exit. It’s like, a fire-hazard or something.”

Frank’s face remained blank for a moment, before blood rushed up his neck and he stuttered out, “O-oh, right then. Mikey’s in the shower, and pizza’s in the fridge. We were going to watch _The Office_ once Mikey’s done.”

Gerard shuffled into his house, not bothering to shut the door behind him. The injudicious, invading Brother-Kissing parasite could do it instead, like… like a peasant, or something. He half-jogged to the bathroom, knowing Mikey was too lazy to lock the door, as usual, and let himself in. Steam instantly fled into his breathing holes, but it was better than suffocating with Frank bitch-ass.

“Hello?” Mikey questioned hesitantly from inside the running shower.

“It’s Gerard,” he responded, keeping his voice low. He made his way to the toilet lid and sat down grimly.

Mikey’s dripping head instantly poked out from the shower curtain, a mixture of shock and confusion displayed upon his features. He stared ahead, a little to Gerard’s left, and spoke, “The fuck?”

“Over this way, Mikes,” Gerard said, gesturing a bit with his hands. The kid was practically blind without his glasses.

Mikey adjusted his stare until he was mostly looking into his older brother’s eyes, the confusion on his face easily shifting to annoyance. “Why are you in here with me? Can’t I bathe myself in peace?”

Gerard cringed a bit, knowing how pathetic his answer was going to be. “But… Frank.”

Mikey groaned, popping his head back into the shower and turning off the water. “Out,” he commanded in a fed up voice. “Unless you want to see me naked.”

Gerard groaned but complied. At least he wouldn’t be alone with Frank for that long. Plus, he really didn’t want to see Mikey naked.

When he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, he was instantly hit with the smell of something baking in the oven. Cookies. It had to be cookies. He did a little shimmy of excitement (cookies were a rare delicacy in the Way home) and practically skipped to the kitchen, only to find Frank at the oven, not his mother.

“Mr. Way—” Frank began.

Gerard couldn’t help but to roll his eyes at that. “Please, uh, just call me Gerard. It’s a little creepy when you keep saying that. Like, I don’t know. It’s just creepy.”

Frank smiled, and Gerard wasn’t going to deny the fact that he had a good smile, but it still sent unpleasant shivers down his spine. “ _Gerard_ ,” he corrected himself. “Your mom asked me to watch the oven while she’s gone, so.”

Gerard turned his head slightly and bit his lip. It wasn’t exactly rare for either of his parents to leave unannounced, but she could’ve at least given him a heads up. “Do you know where my dad is?”

“He said he forgot something important in his office at work and had to go get it.”

“Right,” Gerard said with a slight nod, fixing his gaze on the ground. There dad didn’t have an office. Or a job, other than the occasional lobbying spurts he went through. Most likely, he was at the bar or with that one-eyed waitress from the diner a couple blocks away. Oh well. Frank didn’t need to know that.

A minute of silence passed, and Gerard desperately counted the seconds, waiting for Mikey to show up. Frank alternated between checking on the cookie batch in the oven and eyeing Gerard in a way-too-obvious manner that had Gerard squirming. Finally, he couldn’t take the awkward silence anymore.

“So, Frank,” he started, his voice shaky and uncertain sounding. “Uh, you spend a lot of time at Bryar’s place, huh?” It was the first thought that came to mind, so he decided to go with it.

For some odd reason that Gerard didn’t quite understand, though, Frank’s body became rigid and his face paled. “Yeah,” he answered in a weak voice. “I pretty much live there anymore. We’re good friends.”

Gerard nodded. Mikey hadn’t been over to Bob’s house in a while now, for untold reasons. Perhaps both boys had replaced each other with Frank. Gerard didn’t know nor care, not really. “Yeah, um, Bob’s aight. His folks are pretty cool.”

“Yeah.”

And for once, Frank avoided Gerard’s eyes and instead busied himself with picking at a loose stitch on an oven mitt sitting on the counter. _Shit._ “Um,” _don’t fucking say it, Gerard,_ “do you, uh, want to talk about something, or, um.” And he had said it. No taking it back now.

Frank’s eyes lit up when he met them with Gerard’s, and Gerard wanted to vomit. “Actually, that’d be—”

“I’m here, bitches!” Mikey interrupted before Frank could respond. Apathetic relief instantly flooded Gerard, and he wiped a bead of sweat off his temple. “Mmm, smells like cookies.”

Frank also seemed happy for the change of subject, for he chimed in, “They’re oatmeal raisin!”

“Oatmeal raisin, blegh, but cookies, nonetheless,” Mikey said, shrugging his shoulders and pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “Who wants to play Mario Kart?”

“I thought we were watching _The Office_?” Frank questioned.

“Nah, I want to play Mario Kart,” Mikey said while reaching in the fridge for a Capri Sun. “You in, G-way?”

Gerard faked a yawn and stretched his arms out, but quickly recoiled when he noticed Frank checking him out. “I’m, uh, actually really tired. Did a lot of intense swimming and wiener eating today. Uh, right. I’m off to bed.”

He quickly walked out of the kitchen, his steps awkward and hazardous, as usual. Opening the door to his room, he instantly spotted Frank’s shit spread across the floor and _his_ top bunk, so he made a split-second decision to grab his sketchbook and secret Gatorade stash and go down to the basement bedroom. He debated on whether or not to take a couple of the now done cookies with him as he passed the kitchen, but decided against it. He already had a dessert (or three) tonight. He didn’t need more.

Of course, as soon as he plopped himself down on the rock-hard mattress of his old bedroom, he regretted his decision. The room smelled as awful as ever, and he could’ve sworn he saw a figure-shaped shadow in the corner a couple of times.

To distract himself, he began to make crosshatching patterns across an empty page in his sketchbook, sticking his tongue out slightly and completely focused on the ink coming from his pen. The pattern quickly began to morph into a human face, dark and mysterious and sorta-kinda sexy. Intense scribbles for shadows, light strokes for highlights, and delicate swirls for the hair.

When he was finished, he held the sketch back to critique and nearly gagged. Throwing the sketchbook across the room and hiding under his blankets, Gerard kind of hoped the mildew scent would someone take away all his memories of ever teaching.

Because the sketch wasn’t just of a good-looking boy.  It was of Frank.

 

***

 

It wasn’t until two in the afternoon that Frank woke up. He wasn’t too worried, even though he had told Mr. Bryar he’d be back by three. It’s not like he’d be missed; his extended stay was irking the whole family and he could tell.

Peeking down to the bottom bunk, Frank saw that Mikey was still snoozing, “Mikey,” he whisper-yelled. No response. “Mikey!” he said again, this time a little louder. Still nothing from the other boy. “Mi-key.” He tossed a Bijou the Hamster plushy of Mr. Way’s (which was adorable) down at him, but still, Mikey slept.

“Fuck,” Frank mumbled, grabbing a shoe from his bag on the bed and chucking it at Mikey. It was meant only to hit the bed beside his torso, causing the mattress to shake, but due to his godawful aim, it instead landed square on Mikey’s face with a loud thud.

That, of course, woke him up.

Frank instantly sat back and covered his mouth, listening to a string of curses escape from a now seemingly wide-awake Mikey. After a few moments passed by, however, Frank thought he was safe and that Mikey had simply fallen back to sleep somehow. It wouldn’t surprise him. As soon as he began to relax again, though, Mikey’s head popped up in a total Jack Torrance sort of way, and Frank let out a scream.

“Come here, Frankie,” he whispered, the smile on his face making Frank’s blood curdle. He backed up against the wall and held up a Power Rangers pillow in front of him as a protective shield. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he promised, reaching out his hand. “I’m just gonna bash your brains in.”

“Please don’t, I’m sorry,” Frank murmured.

Mikey just shrugged and climbed up on the bed next to him. “Eh. Too early for brain-bashing. And _The Shining_ quoting. Did it leave a mark?” he asked, turning towards him and pointing at his forehead.

Through the red on his forehead was the faint outline of a textured boot. “Nope.”

Mikey just shook his head and yawned. “Go wake up Gerard, would ya?” he said through the yawn.

“W-what?” Frank stuttered out, not exactly liking the idea of intruding.

“Wake. Up. Gerard. God, you see, this is why I don’t like talking to people. They don’t listen.”

Frank made a mocking noise before obeying and hopping out of bed, groaning the entire time. He made his way to the bathroom, not daring to be in Mr. Way’s presence without at least _trying_ to tame his mess excuse of hair. But even wetting it down didn’t do much, and in the light of the Way’s bathroom, he realized that he desperately needed to touch up his roots. Whatever. Mr. Way did too. Probably.

Dragging his feet to the door of the basement stairwell, Frank took a deep breath. Then he quickly let himself in and took two steps at a time down to the second door leading to Mr. Way’s room.

At first, he tried just knocking, but it did no good, so he opened up and entered the moldy, dark room. The room was plain, decorated only with a bookcase, a dresser, and a _Kingdom Hearts_ poster of Organization XIII that had Frank grinning. Of course Mr. Way would like the game; he was just so adorable like that.

“Mr. Way,” he mumbled, walking further into the room and gently nudging the older man’s shoulder. “Mr. Way, wake up.” But all his teacher did was groan and roll over, still seemingly asleep.

Frank sighed heavily and sluggishly walked towards the bookcase, running his index finger over the bindings of several bulky books. Some of the titles he recognized instantly: _Harry Potter, The Edge Chronicles,_ and other strange British books. Others Frank was unfamiliar with, and possibly for the best.

“ _Necromancing and You: How to Raise the Dead and be the_ Life _of the Party_ ,” he read tentatively, rubbing a particularly warn down spine. Hmm. He’d have to ask Mikey about that one sometime soon. Or maybe he didn’t want to know. He shuddered and fixed his gaze on another title.

But something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Lying on the ground beside his feet was an over-stuffed sketchbook with a Cerberus drawn on the front. Glancing over at Mr. Way and assuring himself he was asleep still, Frank bent over and picked the heavy thing up. It smelled of pencil shavings and cigarettes and had thick pages covered in layers of different mediums. He flipped to the first page, a sketch of David Hasselhoff riding a dolphin in volcano lava. He smiled at that, admiring the even pencil strokes and small splashes of color. He scanned the rest of the book, appreciating the intricate subject-matters and talent on every page, until he finally came to his teacher’s latest sketch, dated the previous day.

Immediately, his heart skipped like five beats and he dropped the book on the floor, taking a step back. “The fuck,” he mumbled, because the man drawn looked freakishly just like him. Frank might be totally flattered if he wasn’t overwhelmed with creeptastic feelings.

Of course, Mr. Way decided to wake up exactly at that moment, surely catching on to the fact that Frank was snooping.

“Hey, Mr. Way,” Frank said, turning around and smiling grandly despite his churning stomach and nervousness.

The man let out a small scream before pulling his blankets up to his chin and coiling up. “W-what are you doing in my room while I’m sleeping?” he asked, fear evident in his eyes.

Frank sighed; he knew it was going to be like this. “Mikey sent me.”

“That unicorn fucker,” Mr. Way mumbled under his breath. Mikey decided not to ask. Gerard stared up at Frank for a few moments before clearing his throat. “Well, uh. I’m awake now, so… You can take your leave now.”

Frank hesitated while shuffling on his feet. He wanted to give the man his privacy, but he also yearned to ask about the sketch of his face. Even though he only saw it for a few brief seconds, he could tell the thing was nearly identical to his own features. It struck his curiosity in a way that he couldn’t ignore.

“Before I go, I have to ask a question.” Frank scratched his scalp and tapped the ground with his toes. “Well, I guess not really a question. Just,” he gulped and met Mr. Way’s eyes, “you drew me.”

Instantaneous realization flashed across Mr. Way’s pretty face, and color rushed up his neck to his cheeks. Red suited him well, but Frank was too embarrassed to notice it now.

“N-no I didn’t,” his teacher stuttered out, sitting up in bed and shaking his head rapidly. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sounded so completely guilty and they both knew it.

Frank chose to ignore his denial and said, “Did you draw me from… from a picture, or memory, or…” His voice trailed off and he felt discomfited again.

Mr. Way, if possible, blushed even harder. “I-I-I, um, I, uh. I—”

Just then, a conveniently shrill scream broke out from upstairs, and Mr. Way noticeably sighed in relief for the suddenly diverted attention.

“Was that Mikey?”

Mr. Way shrugged. “Mikes!” he called up, rolling out of bed and rushing up the steps, clad in a skeleton onesie. Frank smirked at this and quickly followed behind. Not because he was concerned for Mikey. He just wanted to be around Mr. Way for as long as possible.

 

***

 

“Oh, God!” Mikey cried out, resting his head in hands and shaking a little. “I failed as a pet owner, G. I failed at life.”

Gerard rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatized reaction to a petty problem. “Mikey, it’s NintenDogs. They’re virtual pets. Calm down.”

Mikey’s head snapped up to give Gerard the wickedest evil eye. “They’re more than just ‘virtual pets,’ _Gerard_.They’re my babies, and they have fucking fleas!”

“Buy shampoo.”

“I’m saving up for the beach home,” Mikey argued, roughly pushing his ratty hair off his forehead to rest his hand there. “Could you spare a bottle for you little bro in Bark Mode?”

Gerard groaned, stretching it out theatrically long for emphasis and promised to donate a bottle later that night. He turned around in his room, only to run straight into Frank. Like, their chests bumped into each other and the kid’s fucking hand brushed against his _crotch_. Probably on purpose, that sneaky perv bitch.

“Hey, hate to interrupt this heartbreaking moment,” Frank began, not at all acknowledging his almost-groin grope, “but I probably should get going. Bob’s parents are expecting me just about now.”

“Need a ride?” Mikey asked. Funny, because he couldn’t even drive, yet here he stood offering Gerard’s services. Frank nodded his head, evoking another small groan out of Gerard.

“Alright, uh. I guess that’s alright,” he said, grabbing his keys and coat from his desk. “You ready?”

Frank nodded again, and so they headed out, driving the fairly short distance to the Bryar residence. They stopped for coffee on the way, Gerard spending money he didn’t have on a kid he didn’t like. Finally, he had dropped him off, and that was that.

 

***

 

School Monday dragged on way longer than usual. The air outside was crisp and windy, with heavy snow clouds covering the sun. This, it seemed, affected the atmosphere of the entire school, resulting in robotic routines becoming even more mundane and a certain hush pact among the students. It was weird, and it creeped Gerard out, big time.

“Uh, so how’s the book going?” he asked his fifth hour class once the bell had rang. Fifth period was a quiet one on normal days, but the stillness was more unsettling than usual.

Nobody answered, so he tried again. “Anyone actually reading it?”

No answer. Go figure.

“Um, it’s kind of a shitty day, huh?”

A couple of people murmured at this, and it took him a moment to realize what he had said. “Shibby. I said shibby!” he corrected, sitting down at his desk and hiding behind his laptop screen.

“Shibby’s not a word,” someone _finally_ spoke up. He wasn’t even mad; at least the silence was broken.

Most of the rest of the day was spent on his laptop, playing Minecraft. First he created a village of happy little villagers. He built a wall around his village to keep all of his people safe. Wouldn’t want to be responsible for a whole bunch of needless deaths or anything. They were happy and prospered as a working society. Gerard was proud, but soon, he tired of their perfection, so he blew a hole in the wall and created zombies. A student walked by his desk to get a tissue and sent him a dirty look. Gerard frowned and half-closed his laptop screen.

“Need something?” he asked innocently, like he hadn’t just watched a family be mauled to death and consumed by a dead block guy.

The guy just shook his head in what appeared to be disappointment and sat back down at his desk. Gerard was down for that.

So while the rest of the class sat and did absolutely nothing, Gerard took sick pleasure in watching the massacre of his villagers by the ravenous undead.

 

***

 

Frank rushed to seventh hour, excited that he had actually read the assigned chapter of the book. He wanted Mr. Way to praise him, but knew that probably wouldn’t be the case. His teacher was a sweetheart, but not the kind to be comfortable enough to easily give compliments. Plus, Frank wasn’t going to lie to himself; he knew his teacher was beyond creeped out by him. That would just have to change sometime in the near future.

He arrived three minutes before the tardy bell and took his seat by Mr. Way’s desk, smiling at the man and taking out his English journal where he had taken notes on the first chapter of _Pride & Prejudice_.

“What are we doing today, Mr. Way?” a girl (Milly? Miley? God, did he hope it wasn’t the latter) asked, her voice quiet and shy.

Mr. Way looked up from his laptop, an unaware expression on his face. “Huh?”

Frank giggled a little, earning a disgusted glance from Gerard.

The girl repeated her question, and Mr. Way answered by saying, “Oh, I don’t know. Um, we’ve just been reading all day. Er. Yeah.”

The bell rang, followed by a few tardy kids flooding in the room. Mr. Way didn’t seem to notice, standing up and walking to the front of the class.

“Kay, guys,” he began, his voice as cute and nasally as ever. “Um, just finish up chapter one in class so you won’t have homework, and stuff.” He shuffled on his feet nervously and Frank instantly felt bad. “Uh, it’s like, a good chapter, so. Read.”

“How was the barbeque last Friday?” Frank found himself asking.

Mr. Way turned his head slightly to look at Frank. “Good. Oh yeah!” His eyes lit up and Frank wanted to melt. Literally melt. “Do you guys know Ms. Garcia?”

Frank had never had her before, but he’d heard she was a great teacher.

The class chirped in their own happy stories about her, and then Mr. Way said something that made Frank’s heart stop completely.

“That girl’s an absolute animal!”

He looked off lustfully ( _lustfully!)_ into the distance, apparently not noticing how the entire class was now dead silent.

“Oh my God, did you guys _do it?”_ someone spoke from the silence.

Instantly, everyone erupted in laughter, everyone except for Frank. How was this funny? Frank could’ve sworn that the man was gay, and now they were talking about his fucking sex life with a _female_ teacher. Frank felt like he was going to cry and scream and die all at once.

“What?!” Mr. Way squealed, his face the color of a baboon’s ass. “N-no! I-I-I—”

“Oh my God, they totally did it!”

The room was loud, so very loud, and Frank couldn’t take it. His world started spinning and he wanted to bash everyone’s faces in to shut them up. People started singing that tree kissing song with Mr. Way and Ms. Garcia’s names, and the laughter never died, and Mr. Way looked like he was about to die, and it was all wrong.

Until Mr. Way screamed, like completely _screamed,_ “I’M FUCKING GAY!”

That, for obvious reasons, silenced the whole class.

“Knew it,” Frank mumbled so only he could hear, a small smirk already planted on his lips.

The room stayed quiet, the only sound being Mr. Way’s heavy breathing. He began to look around, his eyes fearful and unsure. Frank felt the urge to run up and hug him, but that probably wouldn’t be appropriate, given the circumstances. Another time, perhaps.

Suddenly, Rodney Wiggler (yes, Frank knew _that_ weirdo’s name), started wailing, jumping up from his seat and moaning, “His gay is going to rub _off_ on us!” He sprinted out of the classroom, yelling the whole time, “Faggot!” Frank decided right then and there he was going to set his hair to flames sooner or later.

Mr. Way started choking, and for a second Frank was scared he was going to cry. But no, it was just a joke, and it wasn’t stopping.

“Hey, man, you alright?” someone said, standing up to pat his back while he hacked up, like, a massive hair ball or something. Frank was jealous, but he’d have to wait for his time.

“Y-yes!” Mr. Way spit out, standing up straight and pushing his jet black hair out of his face (Frank was wrong earlier- his roots were perfect). “Just, uh, swallowed some spit down the wrong pipe.”

“Don’t worry about Rodney,” Frank said, seeking to comfort his teacher to the best of his ability. “He’s a homophobic wad and no one likes him.”

The class hummed their approval, and Mr. Way stood a little straighter. Er, not straight, but. Yeah.

“So does this mean you can offer us fashion advice?” a girl asked, excitement in her eyes.

“And help me redesign my room?”

“Are you fabulous?”

“Have you ever done drag before?”

“Do you like rainbows?”

“Is Madonna your idle?”

“No, God, Benny, it’s obviously going to be Beyoncé!”

Mr. Way looked horrified, but smiled a bit at the gay stereotypes. “Uh, I’m just like me, y’know?” he offered, cracking his knuckles and pulling on the sleeve of his black jacket. “Beyoncé is pretty rad awesome.” People smiled at this, starting up a conversation about “Single Ladies” and all things Beyoncé.

And it was with that last statement that Frank realized what he had to do. Mr. Way was shy and awkward; he was not going to come into Frank’s arms without assistance. No, Frank was going to have to work for this man, work harder than he ever had before.

And he was so ready for the challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twas kind of a filler chapter. But next update shall be more actiony cuz I finally have a plot thought up. Yay plot time. Thanks for reading!
> 
> PS: Frnk comes off as a creep. He kind of is. Things will change, tho, don’t worry ;)


	7. Spaghetti-Straps and True Dats

“Scissors?”

“Check.”

“Glue?”

“Check.”

“Construction paper and markers?”

“Double check.”

“Good… Yes, very good.”

Frank chopped away at the coarse red paper, trying to follow the light pencil lines he had drawn as an outline as smoothly as he possibly could. He wasn’t particularly _bad_ at artsy type things, but he was definitely no Grade-A egg, as Mr. Way would say. The thief he had quickly sketched in his and Mikey’s crunch-time state didn’t look half bad, not at all, but his cutting skills resembled those of a blind six year old. Whatever— he had given it his best, at least. Surely it’d get him and Mikey at least a C on their Personal Finance project (that they _still_ hadn’t completely gotten done).

He looked down at the finished product and gagged, looking over at Mikey to compare how his own cut-out lock and keys looked next to his. Better, but just barely.

“Dammit,” he muttered as he squeezed too much glue onto the piece, making it slide away from the intended spot as he pressed it down on the green brochure they had made.

Mikey glanced over and spat out, “Why the hell are you using Christmas colors?”

Frank looked from the red to the green and back again, realization dawning on him. “Well, fuck. At least they’re complementary…?”

Rolling his eyes, Mikey stood from his spot on the ground and walked out of his and Mr. Way’s room without even a peep as to where he was heading.

“Dude, wait up!” Frank commanded, also pushing to his feet and following Mikey into the dining room where Mr. Way (clad in a fucking spaghetti-strap shirt— did he want to see Frank melt or what) sat typing something on his laptop.

He had hardly spoken since his “coming out” to the class earlier that evening, and Frank was well aware of the fact that he was not too happy with his own presence. He couldn’t help that, though- they had to finish the project by that night. Besides, he wanted to be there in case Mr. Way decided to give away his full gay story.

“Gerard,” Mikey barked out, stopping behind the teacher’s wooden chair. Mr. Way didn’t answer, but loud music blared through his headphones. Mikey groaned audibly. “Gerard. Gerard. Gerardgerardgerardgerardgerard.” He removed one of his brother’s earplugs and shook his shoulders. “Gerard!”

“W-what?” Gerard questioned through squinted eyes as he turned in his seat, his tone intimidating but his stutter not so much. He glanced over at Frank and whined softly. Frank just offered a sincere smile.

“Help us finish this stupid-ass project, would ya?”

“Not with that attitude, I won’t,” Gerard muttered quietly in response as he turned back around in his seat. One look at his screen showed he was playing on Club Penguin. Frank would laugh and blackmail him later if he was anyone else.

Mikey apparently wasn’t going to give up that easily, for he poked Gerard hard in the ribs.

“Ow— shit, Mikes! That hurts.” He rubbed his side gently and Frank sort of wanted to join in, but he settled for staring lustfully instead. “What do you want?”

“Frank fucked up our brochure and now we need you to grace us with your fabulous artistic skills.”

Blushing profoundly, Frank pushed forward and sputtered out, “Nuh-uh! Mr. Way, Mikey fucked it up, too. He folded the brochure unevenly.” He threw on his most innocent looking face, but Gerard just stared with horror and disgust in his eyes. Figured.

Rolling his eyes, Mikey pushed Frank back. “Go back to your hole, pleb.” He turned to Gerard. “Please help us, G. I just want to pass this class so I can graduate.”

His puppy-dog pout must’ve gotten to him, for Mr. Way sighed out, “Fine.” He ordered for Mikey to fetch a piece of paper and the markers while he sketched the rough outline of some sort of character, all while Frank stood and admired.

“So you’re pretty good at this drawing stuff,” Frank mumbled, vaguely remembering him mentioning it before in class.

Mr. Way cleared his throat and stared at Frank from his peripheral view. “Uh, y-yeah. It’s like, my ‘thing’ or, erm… whatever.” He swiftly shifted in his chair, banging his knee on the rim of the table with a loud thud. “Ouch.”

“Are you okay?” Frank asked, worry and concern driving him to place a comforting hand on Mr. Way’s shoulder. His soft, nearly bare shoulder. Oh God, spaghetti straps certainly weren’t made for dude’s to wear, but hot _damn._ Frank found himself involuntarily running his hand slowly down the bend of his shoulder to his forearm.

Mr. Way shook him off awkwardly while mumbling, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just gonna be a bruise, so you don’t have to… rub me… or anything.”

“Right, um,” Frank responded, horrified and red hot from embarrassment. Stupid teenage hormones for making him do horny things. Stupid lack of flirting experience for making said horny things even more painfully weird.

Mikey decided to enter right then and there, causing both boys to sigh in relief.

“Here you go— now get to it!” he ordered, tossing the supplies in front of his brother with a hint of snarky attitude. Just then, he seemed to notice Mr. Way’s shirt. “Oh Jesus have mercy. Gerard, no.”

“What?” Mr. Way questioned, his cheeks coloring red and hurt evident on the edge of his voice. “No seriously, Mikey, what?”

“Please tell me you don’t wear that thing in public. Gerard, please. What the actual fuck?” His face held a strange mixture of distress, amusement, and utter mortification.

Now the pain was definitely present when Mr. Way responded, “You know I don’t leave the house unless I have to.” He looked down at his skin-tight shirt and frowned. “I see no problem—”

“No problem? It’s a spaghetti-strap! You look fucking ridiculous, G-way.”

Next on Frank’s burn list was Mikey. His hair was ugly anyway.

“I think it looks fine,” he quickly said in Mr. Way’s defense, trying to show disinterest while still standing up for the poor man.

All went silent for a moment, save for some noise on Club Penguin, before Mikey blurted out, “That’s because you’re one thirsty-ass bitch for my brother.”

“I’ll change,” Mr. Way suddenly stated, standing up from his chair only to hit his knee on the table again. “Shit.” Frank couldn’t help but to think his sudden shift in mood towards the shirt was due to him and his perviness.

 _Of course it is, dumbass,_ he thought stupidly.

“No, no,” Mikey said, shoving Mr. Way back in his seat and causing him to hit the same knee again. “Finish this first… you’ve already humiliated yourself as much as you possibly can for tonight.”

Frank didn’t see where the humiliation came from at all, but instead of commenting on this, he slid into the seat across the corner from Mr. Way, “accidently” (as far as anyone was concerned) bumping his knee into the older man’s. He did, however, feel awful about it a second later when Mr. Way cried out softly (and not in a sexy way). Oh. So that was his injured knee. Huh.

“Sorry,” he muttered, too deep in his lust to be too embarrassed.

He settled down in the chair and watched closely as Mr. Way completed his and Mikey’s project, only a hint of apprehension showing against Frank’s ogling.

 

***

 

The following school day for Gerard was cruel. The elevator was down for maintenance that was apparently four weeks past due, Kandy Garcia was forcing him to eat lunch with her and her other English department friends, and Gerard was still suffering through his cramping man period. The only upside was that Grapefruit supposedly had an unsaid illness that would take her out for at least a month. Rumor in the halls said that it was mono. Gerard readily supported that theory. Bitch had it coming no matter what the ailment was.

Once again, Gerard was lost for what to make his students do until Wednesday when they’d take their chapter one quiz on _Pride & Prejudice_. He was proud to say that he already had his one-hundred and fifty copies of it printed in advance, defeating the little procrastination monster from deep within.

He thought to look through some of his sample lesson plans from his meetings during first period, but at least fifteen minutes of it were already taken up just by his struggling walk from his car all the way up to the _third_ fucking floor. How the kids did it every single day remained a mystery to him. He supposed they were young and their high metabolisms burned off the fatty foods and crap. Gerard’s own metabolism was never kind enough to actually do its job so well, so he doubted he’d be able to even in his younger days.

Groaning as he finally shoved his key in the door to unlock it, Gerard decided to just have a free-write day. Something easy. As usual.

After a five minute cool-down break, he was ready to stand back up from his desk and walk to the vending machines to get his lunch ahead of time, happy he didn’t have to worry about Grapefruit calling him a fatty or something. He wouldn’t put it behind her.

The day rolled by quickly after that, all of his classes so far doing well with their free-writes that he collected to “grade” (read: throw in the recycling bin- to better planet Earth, of course).  Lunch came before he knew it, with Kandy bursting in a few minutes before dismissal. Some of the students greeted her, and she smiled warmly at Gerard, who was back to his shy self around her. His lack of experience with friends gave him a hazy view on how to treat and behave towards new ones.

“Hey, Gerard!” she said with a smile when the students filed out of the classroom with the bell. “I noticed that you were hiding up in here yesterday for lunch instead of eating with us, you little shit. Nothing passes by me, Mr. Way. Nothing.” When he blushed and opened his mouth to give some lame excuse, she just hushed him. “Nah, I’m just playing with you. Come on, it’ll be fun. I promise you’ll like them! Hell, you already know most.”

 _But do they even like me?_ he thought as she tugged on his wrist. Most likely not, but it’s not like he was able to stop the girl now.

She lead him into a bright, heavily decorated room with seven or so teachers spread around a large table towards the front, most of which he recognized from the barbeque.

“Mr. Way!” the all cheered as he awkwardly sat in a seat next to Kandy, feeling out of place dressed in dark colors against the jollity of everything else.

“H-hi,” he replied with a forced smile that he was pretty sure looked more like the expression a dying cow would make. Not that he wanted to know what a dying cow looked like. That just made him sad. “Um, so… lunch, huh?”

He watched as the other teachers pulled out fancy foods like salads and chicken tetrazzini and Hot Pockets. He slowly reached into his pockets and grabbed a Fruit Rollup, some peanut butter crackers, and a Frappuccino, all curtesy of the school’s vending machines.

“Is that one of those fruity things, uh… Fruit Rollups! Is that a Fruit Rollup?” a sort of attractive man—in a dad-type way—asked. “My kids used to worship those things. Man. It’s been years.”

Gerard blushed and looked down at the packaging. “Mikey- uh, my little brother, Mikey, he likes to, um, like, eat them sometimes, I think…” He looked around at the others, who remained silent. “I don’t have any kids.”

A couple people smiled and laughed at that. “Goodness, I hope not. You’re what, seventeen? Eighteen? You look it, at least.”

“Yeah, seriously,” another chimed in. “You could definitely pass as a student.”

Gerard wasn’t sure whether or not to take that as a compliment, but he shrugged anyway and tore into his Fruit Rollup. The conversation shifted away from being directed at him, and he was glad for it. Every once in a while, he was forced into answering a question or giving his input, but he really didn’t mind. Until, of course, marital statuses somehow wound up being the center discussion, and it seemed that _everyone_ either was in a share-worthy relationship, or had a past one that was interesting enough to tell. Gerard had a gay, pot-growing internet fling and that was it.

A man, Max Griffon, held up his ring finger, which shimmered with a wide, golden band. “So she said yes, and now we’re three months into our engagement.” His lips hinted at a smile that he was either too shy or too mortified to reveal. Gerard would be too. He was only half-listening to the engagement story, but the woman sounded like a bitch.

More stories were passed, until Kandy grinned proudly. “Well I’m single and ready to mingle.” She winked at Gerard, and heat rose to his cheeks again.

“What happened to Brad?” a younger teacher, Madeleine Hale, asked.

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Take it that didn’t end well.”

Kandy frowned. “It hasn’t ended at all, really. He still thinks we’re an item.”

“But you’re not?”

“No…?” She sounded so unsure of herself that Gerard instantly felt bad. He would totally ask her out if he wasn’t gay and if he wasn’t Gerard.

“What about you, Gerard? What’s your story?”

He jumped in surprise. “Huh?” It occurred to him that everyone was waiting for a response. About his significant other. That didn’t exist. “Oh, I…um.” Shit. He didn’t know where these people stood on gay rights, and he certainly wasn’t great at making up stories either. He decided that his best bet was to answer with an attempt at vulgar humor. Surely they’d laugh to that and leave him alone on the subject- they had for Madeleine when she mentioned taking her disgusting offspring to Chuck E. Cheese’s every other Tuesday.

He cleared his throat and blurted out, “Yeah, I got a girl. She’s quiet, soft, and always listens to me.” Everyone sat silently and stared. Shit, shit, shit. “Because she’s…a blow-up doll…” His voice trailed off as he realized the direness of his joke. It wasn’t funny, not even close. Kandy attempted to laugh, but that just made matters worse. He could feel a blush coming on and was close to tears when he stood and cried, “I have to pee.”

Well there went his chances of forming lasting relationships with any of them. He sprinted to the nearest exit, but quickly had to stop due to his labored breathing and cramping calves… and ankles, and thighs, and ass. He began to limp his way to the outdoor walkway.

“Gerard, come back!” he heard Kandy shout from behind him.

“No!” he yelled back with a scowl, limping away harder, faster. He pushed the door open forcefully when he reached it and automatically grabbed for the pack of cigarettes ever present in his pocket. Lighting up, he realized that it’d been nearly a week since he’d last smoked and he hadn’t even noticed. Oh well. Blow-up doll jokes beckoned for a relapse. He’d earned the stupid cancer stick.

Kandy, of course, was at his side in a matter of seconds. “You know it’s against school policies to smoke on grounds, right?” she said with a small smile.

He examined the various piles of cigarette butts scattered around the walkway and wasn’t too concerned. “I don’t have a blow-up doll.”

Smiling warmly, Kandy nodded. “Yeah, I figured you didn’t. I thought it was pretty funny. The others did, too, I think. It just took them too long to get it. But either way, it was still pretty great. Blow-up dolls.” A sound escaped her voice that he guessed was an offset laugh.

Gerard studied her features for a sign of mockery, but found only a genuine glow in her bright eyes. “Yeah, I guess.” He blew out a puff of smoke, trying not to get it in her face. “Thanks for, you know, being here… a-and…” Shit.  Damn his mouth words for not working right.

“Hey, no biggie.” She patted his shoulder, seeming to understand where he was going at. “What are friends for, right? Now come on, class is about to start.”

He threw his cigarette on the ground and smashed the stub with the toe of his boot, then quickly followed her inside to ready himself for his next class.

 

***

 

In the middle of seventh period, peaceful, light-hearted seventh period, Gerard got an email that made his heart drop.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, drawing in the eyes of several nearby students. “Uh, sorry,” he said a little louder, scratching his head and looking nervously at the kids. “I forgot I have to babysit the damned juvenile delinquents after school today.”

“Aw, man, that sucks,” a boy in front of him said. Tucker, he thought. His name was Tucker.

Gerard nodded and returned his attention to the laptop screen. There were only eight kids on the roister list, which was at least one plus, what with less kids than he’d expect. “Like, why couldn’t I assist with the crocheting club or help arrange bake sales or something? It’s like they purposely gave me this shitty position because I’m new. It’s just, um… It’s just…” His head caught up with his words and he blushed. “Uh, sorry,” he repeated, looking up again.

“It’s good to express your anger, Mr. Way,” Becky bitch-ass said, only her words kind of only made him feel good about himself, unlike usual.

“You know how to crochet?” a redheaded girl randomly asked.

His blush returned and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Um, just a little. I can make a scarf!” Granted, his scarves always turned out looking like shit, but they still functioned correctly.

“Can you make me a scarf?”

“And me?”

“I’ll pay you!”

Gerard smiled at this. These were his students, and they were so damned cute sometimes. But still teenagers, so he vowed to never let their temporary cuteness fog his judgement. “I guess I could work on making a class set.” The class cheered and he continued to smile as he checked who’d be attending detention.

And immediately lost his smile as he checked again, and again.

Fucking no. He refused to believe his eyes.

Right there, smackdab in the middle, was Frank fucking Iero.

 

***

 

He had gotten it for such a stupid reason, Gerard quickly learned. Apparently, he’d been in the computer lab for Personal Image, and instead of being a good noodle and searching for uplifting quotes like he was assigned, he just _had_ to go and get himself detention by trying to make a fucking Club Penguin account.

“I… I was wondering if you’d like to go on with me sometime,” he had said as they waited for the other seven students to arrive at the two-hour detention.

Gerard tried not to gag, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Frank,” _fucking_ Iero, he wanted to add. “I don’t want to, um, like, play with you on it… or anything. It’s nothing p-personal, just… yeah. Just yeah.”

In fact, he swore never to return to the site again. He’d been meaning to give it up—it was meant for fucking ten year olds—and this was the perfect excuse. Pervy stalker boys to avoid and all that.

“Oh, okay,” Frank said eventually with a nod of the head. “That’s cool. Just… yeah.” He laughed, and suddenly Gerard felt insanely bad because it looked so painful and forced. Gerard was a bad person; he was going to hell for treating children so poorly.

He watched as the kids entered the classroom, none of which he recognized from his own classes. Mikey came too, since he didn’t have any other way home, and sat down on Gerard’s lap.

“Get up,” Gerard mumbled.

“No,” he responded, shifting so his bony ass would pierce into Gerard’s thighs.

“I have to take attendance.”

“So take it.”

Groaning, Gerard called out the kids’ names, trying not to completely butcher the pronunciations. “Tara... L…eye…nch?”

“Lynch, and here.”

He cleared his throat a couple of times. “Uh, right. Lynch. Got it.” He continued down the list, successfully getting three right on the first try, including stupid Frank’s, who he now felt bad for. Finally, he finished, pushing Mikey from his lap and standing.

“So, I’m Gerar— I’m Mr. Way,” he corrected, “and, um, I was given some, like, pretty basic instructions on what you guys should be, uh, doing, and…” He glanced at Mikey, panic starting to kick in. Looking back to his computer screen, he attempted to summarize what it said to do. “Let’s see here… no talking, no music, no food or drinks, no moving, no breathing, no fun. Yup, that pretty much sums it up.” He looked up to see a couple kids smiling, which encouraged him a bit. “Yeah, so just don’t find pleasure in living and we should be fine, right?”

“We know the drill,” Tara Lynch agreed, nodding her head. “It’s pretty much us seven every week.” She turned towards Frank. “You’re new, though.”

Frank smiled at Gerard, and it was hopelessly beautiful and disturbing at the same time. Gerard was honestly at a crossroad. “Yeah, I’m just trying this detention thing out for a bit. Seeing if I like it or not.” His smirk was almost too much, and Gerard was forced to turn away.

It almost seemed like the kid got detention on purpose, but that couldn’t be right. It fucking couldn’t.

After about twenty minutes of silence, Gerard couldn’t take it. “This is so fucking boring.”

“No kidding,” a guy with a green Mohawk (which was pretty amazing) said. “Mr. Toro would always play his weird hippie music so it dragged out even longer.”

“Yeah, and his room always smelled like days-old goat cheese.”

Gerard crinkled his nose. “Who the hell eats goat cheese?”

Mohawk shook his head. “Him, apparently. Supposedly, he was some big health-fanatic dude that only ate organic fruits and vegetables and tofu.”

“And goat cheese.”

Mikey suddenly laughed. “Why are we talking about him in past-tense?”

“When his fro died,” Mohawk spoke with remorse, “part of him died too.”

Gerard stole a glance at Frank to check his reaction. He looked oddly proud.

“So,” Gerard began, slamming his hands on his desk in an attempt to change the conversation. “You guys want to play hangman, or something?”

They did, but Mikey grew bored after about an hour and a half. “I’m waiting in the car,” he hummed, leaving Gerard alone with the kids. At this point, he really didn’t mind, as the little devils had kind of grown on him. He found he could easily relate to most, for they were kind of like him- friendless, alone, and losers. He hoped they’d at least be out of their parents’ basements by the age of twenty-two, unlike himself.

Finally, the two hours were up. “Bye, Mr. Way,” the students said in passing. “You made detention somewhat tolerable today.”

“Uh, yeah, um.” He was unsure of how to respond. “Thanks.”

Frank was the only one that didn’t leave. Gerard wondered if his still-cramping legs would allow him to make an emergency-run far away from the lingering child. Rubbing his sore ass, he seriously doubted it.

“H-hey, Frank,” he mumbled. “Don’t you have parents waiting to pick you up, or…?”

Frank shrugged. “Don’t live with my mom anymore.”

This struck Gerard’s interest. He had yet to hear the full Frank Iero story, and he was more than curious about the strange, tattooed kid. “You don’t?” he tried to say without sounding as eager to learn as he was.

The younger boy shook his head. “A couple of months ago, I moved in with Bob Bryar and his family.”

Gerard waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. It occurred to him that the normally chatty kid was now reluctant and that perhaps he didn’t exactly want to elaborate, but Gerard didn’t care; he was going to hell anyway. “Were you kicked out or something?”

Frank sighed loudly. “I guess? Kind of. My parents divorced a long time ago, and ever since my mom and I have been kind of at each other’s throats. It progressed from bad to worse, and finally she snapped. I haven’t officially been ‘kicked out,’ really, but it’s been implied that I should never return home.”

Gerard suddenly felt extremely guilty for being such an ass to the kid. Sure, he was a pervert, but a homeless, motherless pervert, which wasn’t nearly as bad. “So Bob’s family doesn’t mind you crashing there?” he asked, kicking at the ground a bit.

Laughing, Frank shook his head. “Oh, they mind. Twice they’ve threatened to make me leave since I haven’t exactly looked for a job or an alternate place to live.” He looked down, shame playing at the edges of his eyes. “Luckily, Bob was able to convince them otherwise, but I can tell even he is done putting up with me.”

Gerard nodded. He could relate to that; his own mother had behaved nearly the same way plenty of times before he got his dumb job as a teacher. “So, uh, what are you planning on doing if they do kick you out?”

Frank’s face morphed into an awful form of sorrow that made Gerard way too uncomfortable. He regretted even asking in the first place; it only brought bad memories and heart-to-heart moments that Gerard didn’t want. “I’m not sure. I try not to think about the future, you know?”

All Gerard could think of to say was, “Oh.”

Suddenly, Frank was very near and Gerard couldn’t breathe. It was like the younger boy’s whole demeanor changed, and Gerard didn’t like it very much. “You’re invading my personal bubble,” he whispered, his voice hitching in the back of his throat.

Frank only smiled. “Just, thanks for listening, Mr. Way.”

Gerard was so close that he could make out the freak’s exact scent— a vibrant fusion of mint, cigarette smoke, and hair gel. Not exactly a bad aroma (okay, Gerard was totally down for admitting it was sorta, kinda really pleasant), only it belonged to Frank, and that was wrong. Wrong, wrong, everything was wrong. Gerard should not be standing this fucking close—nose-to-nose, almost—to the short, creepy little Italian boy that called him by his proper teacher title. He shouldn’t be hearing the boy tell his sob story and empathizing with him. He definitely should _not_ be finding his desperate, skittish smile extremely attractive.

Just as Frank began to inch his way closer and closer, and Gerard’s face progressively grew brighter in burning red color, there was a loud bang from the door as someone slammed it against the wall. Both Gerard and Frank looked over at the same time, and Gerard practically sighed in relief at the sight of his little brother.

“Mikes,” he breathed, pushing Frank away and quickly shuffling over to Mikey. “Uh, look at the time.” He glanced at his naked wrist and cleared his throat. “Yup, so we probably should get going. Nice talking to you, Frank, and see you in class tomorrow.” He pivoted on his heel and scrambled out of the room, pulling Mikey along with him. But then he remembered he had to lock up and cursed under his breath.

“What the fuck is happening right now?” Mikey whispered frantically, but before Gerard could answer, Frank was standing next to them.

“Hey, Mikey,” he said with a small wave of his hand. Mikey only glared. He frowned and scratched the back of his neck with a heavily tattooed hand. “Hate to ask this of you guys, but do you mind if I hitch a ride? Bob isn’t responding to any of my texts.”

Gerard raked his brain for an excuse, any excuse at all. He shot a frantic look at Mikey, who only shrugged. “Uh, well, I have to, um… go to the laundromat to do some… some laundry, and I wouldn’t want to drag you into that. Um. We have a lot of laundry to do… and… stuff. Uh.”

Smooth as fuck.

Frank just shook his head, though. “No, I don’t mind. I like the smell of laundromats”— _creep—_ “and I’m kind of desperate here.” He coughed out a mangled laugh that was kind of cute, but Gerard ignored it and bounced on his feet slightly in anxious unease.

“N-no, really,” he stuttered. “You shouldn’t come. It’s like, really far away, and… um. Yeah. Don’t come.”

“Seriously, guys, it’s no big deal. I have nowhere to be and I—”

“Frank, we don’t want to take you home tonight. Ask somebody else,” Mikey blurted out. Gerard cringed at the harshness of his tone but didn’t try to correct it.

Frank stood silently for a couple of drawn-out seconds, before shrugging and smiling softly. “Oh, okay. See you guys tomorrow, then, I guess.” He hurried past the brothers to the stairwell and quickly disappeared down its steps.

“Okay, that was really weird,” Mikey mumbled, staring with empty eyes at the spot where Frank previously stood.

“Eh,” Gerard grunted. “Can we just pretend that didn’t happen and move on with our days?”

Mikey shrugged. “Sure. If you buy me coffee.”

“I don’t have any money, Mikey. My first paycheck doesn’t even come in until next week.”

Slyly, very slyly, his asshole little brother removed their mother’s credit card from his front pocket, a stupid grin planted on his stupid mouth.

“You’re a terrible person, and you’re going to hell.” Gerard snatched the card from his brother’s bony fingers and began the asthma-commencing journey down the stairs and to his minivan.

“I’ll drag you down with me. Can we go to the new café down on 3rd Street?” He trudged quickly behind Gerard, his knees awkward and his glasses slightly lopsided. Gerard smiled at how little his brother had changed over the years, appearance-wise. He had the same geeky physique that Gerard couldn’t help but to find adorable.

“Oh, why the hell not, you little rascal, you.” He ruffled his shaggy hair and dodged a punch thrown at his gut.

“Don’t say rascal ever again. Or touch my hair like that.” Mikey began raking his hands restlessly through his hair.

“Don’t steal Mom’s money ever again.”

“We both know that’s impossible. She practically _asks_ for it, flaunting it around and keeping it out in the open all day.”

“Mikey, she keeps it in her wallet in her purse. That’s hardly flaunting.”

Mikey shot him a sideways scowl, but didn’t say anything more on the topic.

They reached the minivan at last, with Gerard huffing and puffing and Mikey rolling his eyes. Gerard randomly tuned into some bubblegum pop station and began singing along mindlessly, his mood light and airy despite their previous close encounter with the third kind.

But his light humor was immediately dampened upon seeing a small, lone figure sitting on the school’s curb as he pulled out of the parking lot. Mikey caught him staring and turned to look, too, a frown replacing his formerly smiling face.

“God, Mikey,” Gerard mumbled, rubbing his face guiltily and wishing for the ability to disappear altogether. “We really are going to hell, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, well, whatever hell is, it can’t get any worse than the average day of high school.” He paused for a moment, then nodded towards Frank’s sad little outline. “And looking at _that_.”

Gerard turned away suddenly and breathed a deep, lingering breath. “True dat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1- Sorry for the insanely bad chapter title. It's progressively getting worse and worse. I take full blame (even though they're heavily influenced by my beta).
> 
> 2- I’m sure you’ve all been hearing a lot about the big US news on gay marriage today, but I wanted to take a moment to say congrats to the States and all those it affects. This is super awesome :)
> 
> 3- I don't really have a third thing, I just didn't want to leave it at two.


	8. It's Not Weird to Shove a Kid into Your Trunk if They're Your Student

The week flew by, and Frank was glad for it. The longer he stayed with the Bryars, the more frustrated they grew by his presence. At least when the weekend came he could go out and stay out of their way. Come Friday night, however, Frank realized he really had nowhere to go. Mikey had made it clear he didn’t want to be around him at the moment, and he didn’t like his other friends enough to associate himself with them outside of school. That left Bob, and Frank could tell that even he was getting sick of constantly entertaining him.

It was upsetting, but it was also nothing new to Frank.

Saturday morning, he was shaken awake by rough hands. He peeled his eyes open, squinting at the sunlight streaming sharply through his curtains, and stared incredulously at the figure looming before him.

“Whah da whah, _Bob?”_ he grumbled, still half-asleep and trying to shield his eyes from the white light.

Bob scratched his head, looking around almost contritely, until he finally met Frank’s eyes with his narrowed ones.

“Mom and Dad want to see you in the kitchen. They made Eggo waffles for breakfast.” And just like that, he was gone, out of the room to do Lord only knows what.

Frank was unsure what it was, exactly, that Mr. and Mrs. Bryar needed, but he wasn’t exactly up to finding that out. Most likely, they intended to get on to him about drinking all the Dr. Pepper or leaving the toilet lid up.

He was totally not expecting to be told his stay with the Bryars coming to an end so suddenly.

“Frankie, honey, don’t cry.” Mrs. Bryar placed her hand on top of Frank’s, but he pulled away to rub at his eyes. “My mom’s staying with us and there really won’t be room, sweetie. You know we love you, Frank, you have to know that.”

“You can still visit,” Mr. Bryar offered, but Frank knew he’d never feel comfortable enough to go to Bob Bryar’s house again.

“Is there somewhere we can drive you to?” Mrs. Bryar asked, attempting to grab his hand again. “To your mother’s, or maybe your dad’s, or a different friend that would let you stay? Honey, you don’t have to leave today, either.”

Frank stopped listening, though. He was too busy desperately wiping away tears. It wasn’t that he was particularly disappointed or sad, just… he had no one to go to, no place to stay. The thought hit him like an arrow in the knee. At least when he’d been evicted from his mother’s home he had had his best friend to run to. Now he was utterly on his own. Homeless. He’d be a dirty hobo bumming it out on the streets.

The Bryars insisted that he stayed a few days longer until he got everything sorted out, but how awkward would that be? Plus, he had no idea how long it’d take to get “sorted out.” He stuffed as much of his belongings into a large backpack as he could, with promises to pick up the rest of his shit whenever he got settled someplace else. Which he imagined wouldn’t be anytime soon. He’d most likely get shanked on the streets and dead after only his first night.

Bob gave him a quick, awkward hug before seeing him off to the door. And then that was that. He was alone, all by himself for the first time in his life.

And of course, just to make the day that much fucking better, the sky let out a prodigious crack and raindrops began to sprinkle their way down on Frank.

It was at that precise moment that Frank decided he had absolutely no more fucks to give. None. He was so done.

 

***                                                  

 

Gerard was thirsty, okay, and they were all out of coffee _and_ strawberry kiwi juice, the only things that could possibly quench his beckoning thirst at ten-thirty in the morning. Why the hell had he even woken up so early was a mystery to him. Perhaps his teaching schedule was finally starting to settle in, or maybe he was craving coffee so hard that it just woke him up. Either way, he was extremely dehydrated and also extremely broke.

But Starbucks sounded so damn good.

And his mother’s purse, with her perfectly unused credit card, was sitting so innocently on the counter.

 _No,_ he thought. _You’re not Mikey— you don’t steal from people who pushed you out of their birth canal._

He considered waking his little brother so he could be the one to sin, since he obviously didn’t feel guilty taking things from hard-working women, but he wasn’t cruel enough to wake him up at this ungodly hour. Fucking ten-thirty.

Sighing, Gerard knew what he had to do. He looked both ways, checking for unwanted spectators, until he was sure he was alone. He approached the purse, smiling to see that it was already partially opened, like it was waiting for him.

“Steal from me, Gerard,” he mumbled in a high-pitched voice, laughing a bit to himself. “I don’t mind- just take it!”

“Don’t mind if I do, Lady Purse,” he responded to himself, before stopping abruptly to take in the weirdness of the entire situation. Including him having a conversation with an inanimate object.

Shrugging, he searched the bag for her wallet, but the damned thing was like a bottomless pit. There were probably bodies stored in it or something. He pulled out old keychains and lotions and… feminine hygiene products… but no wallet.

“Dammit, woman, where’s your fucking cash-stash at?”

“Well wouldn’t you like to know?” a deep voice sounded out of nowhere. Gerard jumped, and for a second he swore it was the purse speaking to him, but a whack on the back of the head proved that no, he had been caught, and purses really couldn’t talk.

Immediately, Gerard turned around, his cheeks flushed, to face his mother. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so—”

“The hell you are, boy.” She whacked him again, harder, and he cowered against the counter. “Mind explaining why you were digging through my purse, you little heathen child?”

Because Gerard was nervous and stupid and a failure at everything, he answered, slowly, “I, uh- I… uh. There was, um, a tadpole keychain I found, and I know you like tadpoles and key…chains…”

She wasn’t buying it. Not in the least bit.

“Get the hell out of my house until you can learn to treat your mother right, Gerald,” she commanded, pointing in the direction of the front door.

Gerard didn’t even bother to correct her. It was ten-thirty, after all. She was probably still drowsy. Or drunk. One of the two. “Yes, Mom,” he replied, defeated and allowing for his shoulders to droop. An idea hit him, and he thought, _Why the hell not_. He smiled as innocently as he could. “Do you want me to get you some coffee or something?”

Her glare and threatening hand was an answer in of itself.

Of course it was pouring down rain at that precise moment when he needed to get to his minivan parked on the curb in front of their house. Of course Gerard had no umbrella and of course he forgot his keys when he finally worked up the courage to run out to his car.

When he was finally settled in the driver’s seat, soaking wet, Gerard heaved out a sigh. He’d always hated driving in the rain, and his windshield wipers were shit, but he was going to make the best of the situation, dammit. He decided on planning out the next week of lessons for his classes, because it needed to happen sometime or another.

He’d already printed off enough copies for the _Pride & Prejudice _chapter one quiz for every one of his students last week, but as it turned out, the ones he’d printed were for the first five chapters. Apparently no one made quizzes for only the first chapter of a book, which was bull crap, but hey, no biggie. He’d at least tried to plan ahead of time. Not wanting the quizzes to go to waste, he’d made his students take the quiz anyway, promising for a completion grade because even he didn’t know all the answers.

He’d assigned the second chapter for this next Wednesday, but that was as far as he’d gotten for planning. Perhaps he could make them do an assignment based off the book, but it’d been so long since he’d read the damned thing, and he could only remember the film version of it.

Before he could plan any further, he realized that he was stopped in a parking lot to a dully lit store. Fucking Starbucks. He had subconsciously driven to Starbucks. Damn.

He desperately searched around the floorboards of his car for enough spare change to get him even the most basic of coffees, but came up empty handed. He should’ve fucking woken up Mikey after all, because he seriously didn’t think he could last another minute without something to reduce the dryness in his throat.

Well, and just sitting there was pointless, so he began mindlessly driving again, turning on the radio and tuning into a reggae station that wasn’t half bad.

The rainfall was only getting worse, but Gerard really didn’t want to be back home just yet. He didn’t think his mom would let him inside anyway. So he drove on and on, ignoring his thirst and the fact that he couldn’t see shit.

It was while he was driving up a hill on a wide-lane road when he saw the blur out of the corner of his eye. It took him a second to identify the figure walking along the edge of the road, but there was no mistaking it once he did. Frank fucking Iero. Who else, honestly?

Suddenly, the kid just toppled over, face first, into the pavement. He didn’t move to get out of the middle of the road, and Gerard was approaching, fast.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, turning down the stereo and looking to the other lane of cars going the opposite way. He really didn’t want to get out and help Frank, but there was no way he could pass the body with all the cars in the other lane. He looked to his right to see the wide sidewalk, and made a split-second decision to try to pass the boy that way.

As soon as his car hit the curb, however, it stopped, and Gerard knew he was stuck, halfway on the sidewalk and halfway on the road.

“Dammit.” He put the car in park and checked his rearview mirror. Nobody was behind him, so he quickly opened the car door and forced himself out into the storm. His headlights shined brightly through the rain, illuminating Frank’s seemingly lifeless body on the road.

“Frank,” he shouted over the rain, nudging the younger man’s ribs with his foot. All he got in response was a low groan. “Frank, it’s Gerard.” Another nudge, another groan. “Frank,” he pleaded this time, “please get up. Please, please, please.”

It was no use, because there was something obviously very wrong with the kid.

“You made me do this,” Gerard said, and he began to try and roll Frank to the curb of the road, out of his way. But the rain and his thick backpack made him heavy, and that idea wasn’t going to work.

A car was approaching from behind the two, and Gerard knew he had to act fast.

“Fine— fine!” he yelled, kicking his front tire only to stub his toe. “Ouch,” he mumbled. He walked over to Frank and crouched down next to his head. “Frank, can you get in my, um, my car, please?” It was hard for him to ask, but maybe if he offered the kid would move and he could pass.

Frank lifted his head slightly, moaning, and that was enough of an answer. Gerard grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled on him to try and get him up, but Gerard was weak and Frank was as heavy as a… really heavy thing. A rock. He was as heavy as a rock.

“You’re going to have to help me out here a bit, kiddo,” Gerard wheezed, letting go of Frank for a moment to catch his breath. He really should start working out. Maybe he’d sign up for a gym pass or Zumba classes or something along those lines. He rather enjoyed dancing, even if it embarrassed him to dance in front of others— maybe he really would like Zumba.

The car behind them was getting closer by the second. _Focus_ , Gerard thought, gripping Frank’s shoulder again before yanking him up. It seemed that the boy helped this time, because it was a hell of a lot easier than before.

“Okay,” Gerard breathed. “Okay. What to do, what to do…” He could, of course, easily push Frank into the sidewalk and drive away, pretending like the whole incident had never happened, but that seemed wrong. Gerard had never been _that_ cruel, and he wasn’t about to start now. Sighing, Gerard made the decision to just take Frank home, figure out what was so wrong with him, and send him on his way. That would work just fine.

He began leading him to the backseat of his minivan, but remembered suddenly that yeah, they were soaking wet, and yeah, he’d like to avoid getting his back seats wet, too.

“The trunk it is,” he murmured, dragging Frank around the car and opening up the trunk. By this time, the car was stopped directly behind them, unable to pass due to the cars on the other side of the road. The horn being repeatedly honked was only slightly offensive to Gerard, and the headlights added extra sight.

“Okay, Frank,” he began, sitting on the ledge of his car for a moment while still holding on to the kid. “Please, like, make this not difficult.” He sat up suddenly and began the process of shoving Frank in the minivan’s trunk. The fit wasn’t too tight, especially considering that Frank was like, four feet tall, or something ridiculous like that. However, Frank wasn’t being too helpful, so the task proved harder than he’d originally thought it’d be.

The car behind them was finally able to pass, but as it did, the driver rolled down his window and shook his head disappointedly and, Gerard noticed, disgustedly.

“Oh, hell,” Gerard mumbled, before yelling, “He’s my student, dammit!” The car sped around them, paying no mind to Gerard’s shouting. “Yeah, that’s right, drive away! Please don’t go to the police…”

Finally, Gerard was able to get Frank situated against the right side of the car, which was double-difficult since it was still parked on the curb. He patted Frank’s dripping wet face for good measure and slammed the trunk door closed. It was only just barely drizzling now, but Gerard himself was soaked to the bone and really didn’t want to drive. But he’d just have to suck it up because there was nothing else he could do.

He opened the driver’s door and pulled himself in, deciding to awkwardly strip himself of his jacket and t-shirt when he got in so that he was only in his jeans and an undershirt. “Please, don’t look up here, Frank,” he muttered as he put the car in drive and began the task of driving it off the curb. A loud thud sounded from the back of the car when he hit the road, and Gerard mumbled a small apology to Frank. The kid was sure to have a few bruises from face-planting the ground earlier; a couple more hardly mattered anymore.

As soon as Gerard started heading in the direction of his home, he grabbed for his phone and dialed Mikey’s number.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up...”

Mikey picked up, all right… only to say, “Hey, sorry, in the middle of insulting this motherfucker’s mom on CoD. Get home soon, ‘kay?” And then he hung up.

“God dammit!” Gerard cursed. His words were instantly followed by a crack of lightning that made him jump and add, “Sorry, God.”

The drive home was quick due to a lack of traffic, and Gerard was parked on the curb in front of his house in no time.

Gerard seriously doubted he’d be able to get Frank out of the car and all the way into his house, but he’d try anyway. It was probably against some laws somewhere to leave bodies in the trunk of your car for too long, so that really wasn’t an option.

“Okay, G, you can do this,” he coached himself, rubbing his hands together and staring at the younger boy’s unmoving body. “Just…” He awkwardly put his arms around Frank’s body and began to tug. After vigorous jerking and pulling, Gerard was pleased to see he had managed to move Frank’s body. No more than three inches, sure, but it was a work in progress nonetheless.

After a few more minutes of yanking, Frank’s body finally dropped to the ground. “Phew,” Gerard sighed, wiping the tiny sweat beads off his brow. “Now if I could just…” He tried dragging the kid’s body across the road for the second time that day, this time being significantly easier for some reason. He’d managed to pull him all the way to the entryway of his house before his mother stopped him. Shit.

She looked down, studying the now passed-out boy on her freshly mopped (okay, like four months ago) tiled floors. He was still soaked and making a mess, but all his mother did was give Gerard a death-stare and say, “You better not get that all over my damned carpets. Get a tarp.”

Gerard let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding and began looking around for some sort of tarp. He’d thought for sure his mother Donna would at least scold him a little for dragging an unconscious body into her home, but then again she was probably used to Gerard’s absurdities after nearly twenty-three years of dealing with him.

He was having little success finding something he could use as a tarp, so he instead tore down the hall bathroom’s shower curtain and practically ran back to Frank. It wasn’t like he did much bathing anyway, and Mikey had friends he could go to for a place to practice personal hygiene.

He quickly rolled Frank’s body onto the tarp and began pulling it towards his basement bedroom because that was really the only place he could think to take him. The tarp made transportation significantly easier, so he was at the basement door in no time.

Very carefully, he pushed Frank so that only his feet were on the descending stair. “Gently…” he mumbled, pushing Frank a little farther. But then Frank’s body began to slip all too fast off the shower curtain. Gerard’s face quickly changed to an expression of shock and horror. “Oh oh oh, _shit,_ Frank, stop doing that, okay, _shit!”_ It was too late, though, and Frank was tumbling down the steps, hitting the walls with loud thumps and landing in an awkward sprawl at the bottom of the stairs. “Whoops,” he let out softly, cringing at the sight. But then he just shrugged because, well, it got the job done and all.

Of course Mikey decided to show up right then and there and practically scream at Gerard.

“What the fu— not again, Gerard! Seriously?” he squawked like some sort of overgrown bird.

Okay, and it was really _not_ okay to bring up the last time a very similar situation played out with Gerard, because it had been a fucking _accident_ and Mikey knew it was a sore spot in Gerard’s heart. “Not now, Mikes,” he whispered urgently. “Can you please just help me without asking questions?”

His younger brother sighed. “I guess so,” he finally breathed out after a few silent moments. Suddenly, though, his eyes went wide and he gasped, “Wait, is that Fra—”

“Ah ah ah!” Gerard interrupted, slamming a finger into Mikey’s lips to silence him. “No questions. Now come on.”

And with that, they were rushing down the steps to help the strange yet kind of really cute pervert that Gerard may have felt a teensy, tiny bit sorry for. Just a tiny bit…

 

***

 

The first thing he noticed was how unpleasantly cold he was. Like, his bones might’ve very well been made up of ice; he wouldn’t question it given his situation. Then it was the throbbing ache of his entire body. It seemed the chill amplified the burning pain of his limbs and chest, like those disgusting IcyHot packets his mom used to leave around everywhere when she threw out her back. But over everything else was the massive pain in his head that was nearly unbearable, and he wanted nothing more than to pop like sixty-thousand pills to silence the aches and pains.

He was dead; he must be. But then, shouldn’t the pain be going away right about now, not intensifying?

“Hey G, get over here,” he faintly heard come from above his head. “I think he’s waking up.” Frank tried to blink up at the voice to see who it was, but even just opening his eyes sent a dull wave of discomfort throughout his body. “Ew, his eyes are all red and gross.”

Shuffling sounded from the left, and he could feel another body approaching his. “Jesus?” he said through chapped lips, his voice raspy and cracking all over like a pubescent child’s.

This initiated laughter, and it kind of made Frank extremely angry and upset. “Stop laughing at me, Jesus. ‘S not very nice…”

More laughter, more irritated Frank. “You’re making me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Oh my God, this is too funny. Man, I wish we had a video recorder right now.”

And that sounded an awful lot like Mikey Way, not Jesus… Not that he’d heard Jesus’ voice before, but he was sure he would recognize it if it was, in fact, Jesus.

“Mikey? That you?” he mumbled, attempting to open his eyes again. It was a little easier on the second try.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Mikey replied, waving in front of Frank’s face. He paused for a moment, before adding, “And Gerard.”

 _Gerard?_ He was here? How the fuck did that happen? And shit, Mikey had said earlier that his eyes looked gross, and _God,_ his gorgeous teacher was hovering right above him, his wet hair sticking to the form of his face and his hazel eyes practically glowing.

Suddenly, the cogs in Frank’s brain began churning again and he remembered his current situation. He was homeless, and he’d collapsed on the road in the rain, and out of all people in the entire fucking city, Mr. Way had been the one to politely stop and help him with such a kind heart. The man was perfect, and Frank’s heart ached even more so than his head.

“Thanks for helping me, Mr. Way,” he murmured to his teacher, attempting to smile the most gracious thing he could muster. It really was the least he could do for the older man. “You stopping without a second thought… it means a lot.”

Mr. Way got a weird, almost guilty look on his face, and he mumbled, “Y-yeah, um, of course. Like. Yeah. Without a second thought. Yeah.”

Mikey snorted, reminding Frank that they weren’t alone so he probably shouldn’t spill his heart out to the man just yet.

“Why were you even out?” Frank started again. “It was like, ten o’clock. Too fucking early.”

“Right!” Mr. Way cheered, beaming. But then color rose to his normally pale cheeks and he looked away. “I mean… I was, uh, going out for c-coffee, but I’m kind of broke, so…”

“Speaking of which,” Mikey chimed in, “you got caught trying to take your own mother’s credit card, you ruthless, coldblooded bastard.”

“Oh, come on, _Michael,_ you’re the one to talk!” Mr. Way said. It was really cute to see him bantering with his younger brother, no longer awkwardly stumbling on words and blurting out uh’s and um’s. Frank wanted nothing more than for Mr. Way to be that comfortable in his own presence. “How the fuck—sorry, Frank— _frick_ did you even know about that?”

“Mom told me.”

“That tattle tampon.” Gerard looked off into the distance for a moment, his cheeks even redder than before.

“Okay, Tammy Larsen, let’s focus on the problem at hand,” Mikey said, rolling his eyes. “Frank, are you like, in serious pain, or just kind-of pain, or not much pain, or what?” Mikey frowned, his lips pursing, before shaking his head. “Scratch that. Just rate your pain. One-to-ten scale, ten being that you’re dying.”

Frank thought about giving an eight—he honestly felt close to death—but he knew that would be an exaggeration, and he didn’t want to make a fool out of himself in front of the older Way brother. “Six,” he stated simply.

The room was silent for a moment, both Frank and Mr. Way staring at Mikey expectantly. Mikey seemed to catch on to the stares after a few drawn out moments. “What?” he asked innocently. “I don’t actually know any medically shit. Stop giving me that look.”

This time it was Mr. Way’s turn to roll his eyes. “Mikey, go get an Aspirin and some water… and some gummy worms from my bottom dresser drawer.”

“What— we have gummy worms?” Mikey spat out. “Why the fuck are you hiding them from me? And why do you need them anyway?”

“They’re for my man periods, and I’m stress eating. Now, go— skedaddle!”

And then Mikey was gone, and Mr. Way wasn’t, and it was only Frank with his teacher. His cheeks burned from excitement and nervousness. He couldn’t scare away the older man now, not while he had him literally all to himself.

He realized suddenly that he was lying on Mr. Way’s bed with the teacher sitting on the edge next to him. Mr. Way’s ass cheeks were literally inches away from his face, okay, and that was enough to make Frank smile just a little bit.

“So, uh, so what, um, sorry,” Mr. Way snorted, shaking his head and smiling softly. That may have been the first time he’d heard him apologize for his adorable awkwardness, and Frank beamed right back. “So why were you roaming the streets, anyway?” he finally managed to ask.

Frank owed him the explanation, but it was also embarrassing as fuck. _Why, I’m a hobo now, Mr. Way. That’s what we hobos do—_ _roam the streets! Hardy-har-har._ No fucking way.

“Well,” Frank began. “I think I told you, that day you and Mikey went to the laundromat—” a look of shame from Mr. Way (Frank wasn’t trying to get that reaction- he wasn’t!)— “but the Bryars finally got sick of me and sent me on my way, so I guess that was just me trying to find my way.” He let out a nervous laugh in attempt to lighten the mood, but he wasn’t even convincing himself. A sob escaped his throat, one that he tried desperately to ignore.

Mr. Way looked as uncomfortable as Frank felt, but before Frank knew it, a hand of comfort was being placed on his shoulder. Frank focused on the touch, on the way it made his heart flutter, and not the quickly escaping tears running down his cheeks.

“I, uh,” Mr. Way began. “Do you, like, have anywhere to go, or…?”

All Frank could manage was a minuscule shake of his head.

Mr. Way cleared his throat suddenly and put on a fake-ass (but still adorable, mind you) smile. “Well, Frankie, look on the bright side. I got more exercise than I’ve had in months, you can finally say you’ve been shoved into the trunk of a minivan by your favorite English 12 teacher, and it’s only just Saturday afternoon. That’s like, kind of rad, I think. I don’t know, that’s just my opinion.”

This had Frank giggling for more reasons than one. First, the fucking nickname. Frankie— Mr. Way had called him _Frankie._ Didn’t that bump up their relationship from student-crushing-on-older teacher-who-hated-student’s-guts status to student-crushing-on-older-teacher-who-tolerated-student’s-guts-and-called-student-by-a-fucking- _nickname_ status? That was a major achievement that Frank certainly wouldn’t forget. And then there was the fact that Mr. Way was honestly trying to make Frank feel better (which was totally working, if just a little bit), and for a minute Frank had actually forgotten why he had been crying.

“Um, Frank?”

Frank looked over at Mr. Way, meeting his eyes and raising his eyebrows slightly. “Mr. Way?”

“It’s j-just Gerard,” he corrected under his breath, stimulating another smile from Frank, “and I was just wondering if, like, maybe you needed a place to crash at for a while, and if you did you could, like, do it here at our house or something, and my parents wouldn’t mind ‘cause they barely know we even exist, and it wouldn’t be that bad ‘cause you could hitch rides to and from school without feeling guilty, and… and…”

Tears flooded from Frank’s eyes for entirely different reasons. He had to turn away before he broke into sobs again. Frank wasn’t stupid- he knew that Mr. Way—er, Gerard—thought little of him. Teachers picked favorites, and Frank was far from Gerard’s. They’d known each other for only a few weeks, and in that time Frank had managed to completely humiliate himself and drive one of his only friends away by being a quote “thirsty-ass bitch” for his older brother. And yet, here was that very same teacher, offering him a place to stay (was that even legal? hell if Frank should know), and at the same time offering comfort, and security, and pretty much everything Frank had been void of since he left his mother. To say Frank was grateful was the biggest understatement in the history of understatements. To say he was overwhelmed and consoled and forever in Gerard’s debt wasn’t enough. It was almost frightening as to how overcome Frank felt.

He didn’t answer, not for a long time, until most of his tears were dried and he was able to look at Gerard’s pretty little face without choking up. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say— yes, I’d love to stay with you, or yeah, that sounds lovely, so sign me up? Shit. He decided to just wing it.

“Thank you so fucking much, Gerard,” he cried out, a new batch of tears flooding his eyes. Frank would die if he didn’t stop crying soon. “I swear I won’t get in the way or be like, super pervy or anything. If you ever want me out, just say the word and I’ll be gone before you can blink an eye. Gerard, just… just thank you.”

“Hey, uh,” Gerard said, looking away to rub his neck anxiously. “Don’t, like, don’t mention it or anything. Like seriously. Don’t. ‘S all awkward and shit.”

Frank laughed, and he saw Gerard smile, just a little. Frank wasn’t one for clichés, but he’d be stupid not to admit that for the moment, everything was going to be okay.


End file.
